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"Vermont beautiful 



'Vermont 'Beau f if u/ 



BY 



WALLACE NUTTING 

Author of " Furniture of the Pilgrim Century,' 
"A Windsor Handbook," etc. 



ILLUSTRATED BY THE AUTHOR WITH 
THREE HUNDRED AND FOUR PHOTOGRAPHS 
COVERING ALL THE COUNTIES IN VERMONT 











FRAMINGHAM AND BOSTON 

OLD AMERICA COMPANY 

PUBLISHERS 



.A/7 



Copyright 1922 
By Wallace Nutting 



All rights reserved 



THE PLIMPTON PKESS 
NORWOOD • MASS -U'S -A 



©C1A692024 



FOREWORD 

THE state of Vermont through its secretary, Mr. Bailey, has issued 
illustrated pamphlets, from time to time setting forth in excellent 
fashion the attractions of the state. But it is believed that a fuller treat- 
ment, pictorially, with some description of the more beautiful sections 
will be desired by the present and former residents of Vermont as well 
as by its casual visitors. With this idea in mind the present book is 
offered to the public. It is the first of a series projected on the older or 
more beautiful states, which, if time and mood allow, may follow. 

For twenty years and more the author has joyed in Vermont journey- 
ings, and in that period has passed five entire summers within the bounds 
of the state, besides touring scores of times through its delightful valleys. 
He would, however, disclaim exhaustive knowledge of any of its features, 
and if possessing it might withhold it, as information too minute may be- 
come uninteresting. He knows there are far more beautiful spots in 
Vermont than any one person can ever see. Anything that God has made 
has new facets of light still discoverable by the reverent. 

The author foresees disappointment to many persons because certain 
sections of the state are not more fully sho,wn. It is obvious that one 
might extend such a work as this to several volumes, but in spite of some 
regions not being covered, the large number of pictures here included 
is far in excess of anything hitherto attempted. They are all original, 
and practically all are now published in book form for the first time. 
The majority of them have not been seen hitherto in any form, having 
been made within a year of the date of this publication. 

No effort has been made to supply a guide book, but rather the object 
is to present a book suitable for a gift. The thoroughly good guide of 
New England, by Sargent, has covered details not treated here. 



4 FOREWORD 

Furthermore, it may be worth while to say that no consideration of any 
sort except matters of quaintness, beauty, or history has weighed with the 
author in the selections of pictures or the references in the text. No 
compensation, direct or indirect, has been received for advertising j all 
the author has said being just what he himself believes. 

In regard to the history of Vermont, it has been so well done that it 
is unnecessary in a work of this kind to do more than glance at it. All 
the author pretends to do is to offer as many pictures of Vermont as are 
possible in this compass, together with such general and incidental obser- 
vations on roads and natural features as may prove a pleasure or a con- 
venience to a lover of the beautiful. 

WALLACE NUTTING 
Framhigham 
Massachusetts 



ro 

MY WIFE 



WHOSE COMPANY ON VERMONT 
ROADS AND WHOSE INSPIRATION 
AND GOOD TASTE HAVE MADE THIS 
AND OTHER WORK OF MINE POSSIBLE 



ii 



II 



II 



I 



'i 



'\Jermont 'beautiful 






I. THE ROADS OF VERMONT 

T ZERMONT is unique in the quality of its roads. IMore solid sense 
^ has been directed to their construction than we have observed else- 
where. It is clearly impossible for a state uniquely rural to construct, or 
even to plan, a general system of cement roads. The usual thing, how- 
ever, would have been the building of tarred or composite roads, such as 
break up quickly and are proving so unsatisfactory in other states. We owe 
a very high tribute to Mr. Stoddard B. Bates, of Orleans County, for his 
wisdom in using the materials which he found at hand. 

Everywhere in Vermont, except in some parts of the Champlain basin, 
there is abundant gravel. This Mr. Bates has used. It would be a reve- 
lation to some road builders to test these gravel roads, which are not only 
the best possible at their cost, but strange to say are the fastest roads, ex- 
cepting only cement. This has been proved by the writer, for he once 
drove from St. Johnsbury to Newport, Eden, Hyde Park, and thence to 
St. Johnsbury at a rate of speed exceeding the possibilities elsewhere in 
New England. 

To make these roads so excellent, they must be cunningly compounded 
of just enough fine matter to permit of packing the gravel firmly. Here 
and there local attempts at gravel roads have been failures owing to the 
looseness of the gravel used. This makes a road dangerous to pass over, 
except very slowly. The beds of the streams which abound through nine 

7 



8 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

parts of the state of Vermont afford admirably screened gravel. There are 
still seme districts in the northwest of the state where the roads consist 
of pure clay admirable for smoothness when scraped, but when wet or 
rough after drying capable of testing the character of a saint. All good 
men are advised to avoid journeys over such roads, because the duffer at 
golf is a kind, sweet gentleman to a traveller on clay when it has fallen 
from grace. 

In most of our states it is dangerous to leave main roads. In Vermont, 
however, the roads are so good one may often follow heavy grades over 
the highest hills, over narrow winding passes, without a jolt or a jar. In 
fact, a notable feature of Vermont is the generally high character of the 
minor cross roads and hill roads. It is these that reveal many hidden 
beauties and characteristic mountain farms, snug, trim, and appealing. 
There is more human interest in such roads than in the wide trunk lines 
between great cities. Along them one finds fair homesteads, and good 
ones, too, at the summits of many of the mountains or lying on the soft 
slopes at an elevation of two thousand feet and more, for the very crests 
of the loftier hills are often the finest soil imaginable. 

Still following good roads it is possible to penetrate into the very heart 
of the Green Mountains, which are generally true to their name to their 
very summits. There is a softness and intimacy about them which is better 
than grandeur and more comfortable than appalling. They are good to 
live with, understandable and kindly, rather than mysterious and terrify- 
ing. Their glens are ideal homes for common mortals who are not too 
ambitious, but who love liberty and the sod. 

As one goes on through the state a great wealth of beauty is revealed. 
The main road passing north and south through Vermont on its western 
side, approaching by way of branches from Williamstown or Troy, pro- 
ceeds from Bennington through to the Canada line. Its more attractive 
portions are in the southern half. The eastern trunk line entering from 
Greenfield and passing out into Sherbrook, in Canada, is more interesting 
in its northern half. The cross road from Bennington to Brattleboro is 



THE RIVERS AND BROOKS 9 

very pleasing in apple blossom time. In places it is somewhat narrow. 
The diagonal road from Bellows Falls to Rutland is beautiful all through 
the season of travel. 

From White River one crosses to Rutland via Woodstock and finds 
beauty all the way. The passage from Wells River through IMontpelier 
to Burlington is fine. The journey from St. Johnsbury to Burlington also 
includes much that is good, especially in the eastern section. The most 
northern cross road from Newport to Swanton is perhaps the poorest road 
and the least interesting. It suffers the further handicap of requiring calls 
at custom houses as it touches Canada. It will probably be much better in 
a few years. The parts of the road in Vermont are much the best. 

The series of four roads from the White River— Rutland route running 
roughly parallel through the mountain valleys northerly to the Montpelier- 
Waterbury route, are fascinating tours, often neglected, but very impor- 
tant for the lover of nature's quiet moods. Various minor routes will be 
mentioned in the course of this book, but those already sketched are all 
necessary to any general review of the beauty spots of the state. 

A final rare delight of Vermont travel is the freedom from city sights 
and noises. One may choose long routes and never encounter any human 
habitation larger than a rural village. 



II. THE RIVERS AND BROOKS 

THE rivers and minor streams of Vermont are nearly always found by 
the roadside. They are, therefore, a far more important feature 
of beauty than the lakes. The unfolding mystery so fascinating in follow- 
ing a stream is one of the chief charms of travel. A lake can often be seen 
at one point, and is often bordered by a scrub growth. The trees about 
streams are of a nobler character than are found on lake margins. 

It is an odd fact that the use of the word " brook " in America is prac- 
tically confined to New England. It is a lovable word, full of music and 



lo VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

memory. The brooks tell soothing stories, and are better to sit beside than 
an open fire. 

The association of our branch of the human race with brooks is of 
hoary and unknown antiquity. Before the day of wells our fathers lived 
by the brookside. There, at five years of age, the boy built his dam with 
pebbles and sod and set up his water wheel. His sister waded by his side 
and felt the smooth stones with her toes. The minnows darted between 
her feet; the great elm overhung, and its water-loving roots formed a seat, 
when, tired of play, the children sat to view their first feat of engineering. 
What a brook does not know of botany and geology in its region is not a 
big chapter. Who has not been lost to the passage of time and the plague 
of history in following the devious course of the clear flowing water.? Here 
large, there small, now hurrying, now reposing; at one time hidden among 
affectionate birches, at another time basking in the broad, hot lights of the 
garish meadow, the brook has more moods and more mystery than a woman. 

Brooks in Vermont are as many as there are farms, and every one has 
a marked character of its own, but never a bad one in the whole list. For 
pictures, their dimpled elbows and soft reflection call us. They give life 
and take toll in an agreeable spirit. 

More worth-while things can be done with a brook than with anything 
else. It is easily led; it may be coaxed to expand into pools by the farm- 
house, or made to drive the old saw mill, or to water the garden. A bridge 
over a brook is one of the first pieces of architecture, and the prettiest. A 
man may own much, but unless he owns a brook he is poor. 

The Vermont brook is a varying personality, and has its mad as well 
as its lucid intervals. Indeed, one of the beautiful streams of Vermont is 
called Mad River. It flows northerly, entering the Winooski in 
Middlesex. 

The Vermont farmer knew how to use the brook in all its moods. 
In March, when the farm work did not press, he found even a normally 
small brook swollen to such proportions as to be ample for his sawing and 
grinding. So he harnessed it for this purpose, and a mill arose to do his 




..^K^- 





THE RIVERS AND BROOKS 13 

bidding. Vermont must contain thousands of old abandoned mills which 
give evidence of how a stream was used. They make a characteristic fea- 
ture of the state, and are one more mark of the independence of the small 
community in old New England. Instead of drawing logs a long way 
to a large central mill, the small farmer wrought at home. He cut his 
own timber, sawed it at his little mill, and built his own barn, which was 
a big one. 

Lanier makes use of the brook as having a purpose, and we are just 
awakening to the endless uses of water. Vast reservoirs are now estab- 
lished in and about Wilmington whose brooks are pictured on pages 24 
and 167. But besides the storage in reservoirs, when water is put to 
the uses it should be, then Vermont and the states of kindred contour 
will come into their own. IMore than the mines of our country the brooks 
will be the continuous sources of the nation's wealth. Every shower will 
be a shower of gold. We who live where water is abundant forget that 
a great part of the human race never have enough water. And water 
for us, too, will prove the salvation of the East. Nearly all the water 
power is wasted. The engineers' estimates are all too low. When every 
hill brook has a series of little dams whose power is fed below to one 
wire, the hill states will rise in importance and become the centers of 
empire. The brook, then, may become the most useful, as it is now the 
most beautiful, feature of our country. 

The charming turns and cascades along Mad River appear on pages 
64 and 216. The Winooski at Middlesex, pages 80 and 159, has a 
gorge as appealing in color and outline as others that we journey across 
continents to behold. Perhaps for charm of stream and mountain it 
would be hard to surpass the route from Montpelier to Essex, where 
Camel's Hump, as on page 168, shows itself from many angles. The 
brooks that feed the Winooski are shown on pages 47, 52 and 83. The 
Winooski reveals its moods on pages S^, 63, 207, and at the bottom and 
middle of page 48, and on page 168 at the top. 

The White River from its mouth upward exhibits numberless curves 



14 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

of beauty, dreamy reflections, shadowing elms and nestling villages. 
The Village Spires, page 135, is an instance, other views appearing on 
pages 36, 39, 40. 

The upper Connecticut exhibits better known phases of beauty than 
the smaller streams. " Fording the Upper Connecticut," page 143, shows 
picturesque cattle, mottled in color, a double team, with the two-wheeled 
hayrack capable of dodging about among the stones — the ideal con- 
trivance for rough going. The Connecticut has many fair reaches at 
Fairlee, Bradford, and the villages farther north. They appear on 
pages 191, 196, 199, 200, 212, 215. Near Brattleboro, with its bald, 
black mountains, and at Bellows Falls, recent extensive power develop- 
ments have changed the aspects of the valleys and added a series of new 
reflections from the hills. West River pictures are on pages 87 and 112. 

The Passumpsic is full of charm. From its mouth to its source there 
is hardly a reach or a bow that does not challenge our delighted atten- 
tion. Some of these arresting bits appear on pages 71, 80, 120, 131. 

The Lamoille bears in its name a reminder that northern and western 
Vermont got names, as it is now getting people, from French Canada. 
A fine reach of the Lamoille, on page 71, shows a spaciousness and dig- 
nity worthy of a great river. 

Otter Creek, on the west of the mountains, being on a general thorough- 
fare, is better known to the tourist than other streams of Vermont. In 
various angles it successively reflects in its course nearly the entire range 
of the Green Mountains, as on page 23 and the bottom of page 88. 
But its course is quieter than that of any other Vermont river. 

The Battenkill flows into the Hudson, and in its name bears the 
stamp of old Dutch New York. It is a stream eminent in beautiful 
stretches, some of the finest of which are pictured on pages 11, 15, 
and 1 6. 

It must always be the brook, however, to which we return in memory, 
because it is comprehensible and endearing by its very modesty. Un- 
known to the wide world, often even unnamed, it is " our brook " to 



THE RIVERS AND BROOKS 17 

the lover who dwells on its grassy banks; knows its variable voice, now 
faint, now swelling to a roar; sees the flash of its diamond and ruby 
waters playing among the multi-colored stones; spans it or fords it; 
harnesses it and guides it until it becomes the symbol of his farm and 
the inspirer of whatever latent poetry lies in him. Such examples are 
on pages 23, 24, 28, 31 and the top of page 55. 

In this connection the farm bridge must be noticed as a feature almost 
as common as the farm barn. The meadow often lies on the opposite 
side of the stream from the road where the farmhouse is. Many a 
farm has a modern bridge of some pretensions, or an old covered struc- 
ture painted red. In cases where the settler saw his advantage in placing 
his dwelling beyond his bridge, he secured an approach which for charm 
may rival the subtly contrived approach of a landscape architect. 

Before recent expensive road work was undertaken the Vermonter 
had often to fight his river or brook. It required no small part of his 
labor and ingenuity to bridge or curb permanently the fickle waters. 

The charm of Vermont touring is much enhanced by the road ramps 
leading to or from these bridges. 

The " old red bridge " has become a proverbial phrase. So far have 
most of us lived away from it, that the importance of its roof to prevent 
decay and the quaintness of its outlines, flanked at its ends by fine patri- 
archal elms, have passed from our memory. We are glad to recall 
and preserve these features on pages 31, 51, and 64. 

Aside from the air, then, the quality of which in Vermont cannot 
be surpassed, a drop of water from a Vermont brook means more than 
anything else in the aesthetics of the visitor to the state or the economics 
of the resident. The latter, tracing the brook to its source, conducts 
the water to his homestead, where the flowing aqueduct becomes so 
good and important a part of his homestead that he feels a degree of 
mild contempt for the farm that lacks it. From springs above his 
valley he feeds house and barn with a perennial cool stream. In the 
kitchen is often a great open tank whence the water is dipped up in any 



1 8 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

quantity. The escape thus enjoyed from the mechanism of windmills 
or the waste of effort in hand pumping carries into the feeling of the 
homesteader a sense of reserv'e power. Like the heart beat in the human 
body, the spring supplies the life of the farm, and the domestic animals 
are watered beneath their own roof. 

The claim to the crown of beauty has been made for the Queechee 
River, and certainly it has much to commend it. Gathering head on 
the divide between Woodstock and Rutland, it follows in its more 
rapid course a fine mountain road lined with yellow birches whose coppery 
sheen decorates the narrow margin between river and road. In the 
quieter meadows of Bridgewater and Woodstock the stream bends its 
glinting beauty, and at its notable Gulf becomes a somewhat impressive 
vision, as seen from the railway and the wooded sides of the gorge. 
Some of these aspects appear on pages 31, 163 and 195. 

It is these quieter waters, with their long lights and reposeful aspects, 
that particularly lay claim to feminine affection. However much the 
masculine mind may turn toward roaring torrents suggesting strength 
and the natural conflict, it is mirrors that appeal to the mind of a woman. 
To such tastes the northwestern portion of the state is most strongly 
attractive. Here the Missisquoi lingers in its plains almost too leis- 
urely. Otter Creek, closing its course shortly after it leaves Vergennes 
in the low-lying waters of Champlain, is a mountain mirror through nearly 
all its extent. 

A riverside drive, no less delightful, because surprising in its fair 
revelations, is that which, beginning out of the state, in North Adams, 
skirts a branch of the Hoosic River into Stamford. The contour of the 
fine southern foothills of the Green Mountains in that town is remark- 
ably graceful, and when one sees them, as we did, with fairy-like mists 
playing about them, they become a revelation of cool purity. Going 
on to Heartwellville and Readsboro we come on the west branch of the 
Deerfield River. Some of the slack waters of this branch, more prop- 
erly confined reserves, nestle like deep-set gems, and attract great ad- 



THE RIVERS AND BROOKS 21 

miration. At times, again, the stream breaks for long reaches into 
white water. Crossing over then to Whitingham, where immense 
reservoirs are to be created, one goes on to Jacksonville and follows 
down the North River to Coleraine and Shelburne Falls. There, on 
the Buckland side, is a prodigious power development. The entire 
route, though beginning and ending outside our chosen state, reveals 
its chief beauties within the bounds of Vermont. The journey south 
from Jacksonville reveals here a deep gorge, with vast boulders fight- 
ing the current} there, more open cascades, almost continuous for miles. 
It is not too much to say that immediately after such a drive one gives 
way to raptures and can think of little else than the beauty he has seen. 
This is especially true if the journey is made in a time of high water. 
The fantastic shapes of the breaking current, the quaint forms of the 
rocks, the color and extent of the lichen-covered cliffs, the sturdy but 
graceful overhanging birches and maples, cause one's eyes to wander 
delightedly from one charm to another, each seeking to excel. The 
general effect is a richness of appeal that gives the mind a sense of 
possessing all good things in a moment. To us, this region, not 
too vast, not over advertised, has attractions exceeding the Mohawk 
trail. There is not such a crush of vehicles. One feels withdrawn to 
commune with gentler and nearer beauty, in quiet and sweetness. 

The southern portion of Vermont is notable for its many fine rapid 
streams. The fall is so great, taken in the course of a mile or two, that 
these streams are a challenge to this generation, for their " white coal " 
possibilities. The outcome of enterprises resulting in many reservoirs 
adds very substantially to the number of lakes in the state, as at Ray- 
ponda, for instance. Incidently the new water margins running into 
long valleys and about the buttresses of the hills have appreciably en- 
hanced the beauty of the region, adding charm where in some cases there 
was only a humdrum denuded landscape. It is the policy of the pro- 
jectors of these reserve water supplies to conserve and extend the 
forests above them, so that as years go on the route lately described, 



22 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

and others adjacent, will become increasingly beautiful. It is yet a 
district of meager population, where wonderful sites for mountain homes 
are wholly unoccupied. The Stamford scenes are on pages 87 and lOO; 
the river moods of spring and autumn speak to us on page 187, the top of 
page 188, page 191 at the top, page 192 at the bottom and page 204. 

Such routes, over roads not of the first class, yet constructed to provide 
safety and a degree of comfort, are the salient features that appeal in 
Vermont. The journey up West River from Brattleboro to London- 
derry affords somewhat similar pleasure to the route just described. To 
find that there are good roads, rich in various beauties, and yet rather 
free from tourists is a pleasing revelation. 

As one journeys on, various things besides curve of brook, sweep of 
river, and grace of hills greet the eye. Substantial houses, memorials of 
the solid character of the Scotch settlers who built them, stand in the 
upper reaches of the route. The colors in the landscape, too, are notice- 
able. When the season on the lowlands has already taken on a same- 
ness of deep, almost black green, the higher ridges, as at Peru, show 
through the summer that pleasing gradation of green in their foliage 
which we notice on lowlands only in earlier leafage. 

The apple blossoms on these highlands trail their fragrance into June, 
being at least three weeks later than in lower New England and a month 
behind the middle Atlantic states. If one follows the season, as this year 
we did, one extends to the perfect seven the number of weeks that the 
incomparable apple blossom may be enjoyed. The little rivers of Ver- 
mont are so often confined between shouldering hills that the orchards 
are huddled close to the water's edge, and their location thus increases 
the strength of their appeal. Where, as so often happens, the wild apple 
springs up, selecting a strategically fine setting for itself, the tired mind 
loses itself in days of admiration and feels the freshness of youth return 
by mere repetition of invitation to be a child of spring again. 

So the rain and its children, the brook and the river, have shaped the 
face of the state, the direction of its valleys, and its social relations. They 



THE LAKES OF VERMONT 25 

have carved its curves of beauty and built its stores of power. The green 
hills give out forever their crystal springs j and water, whether in mist 
or cascade or at rest, is the origin of wealth and charm to the bounteously 
endowed mother of men, dear old Vermont. 



III. LAKES OF VERMONT 

THE LAKE, which is only a burgeoning brook, needs our glances of 
admiration as we leave the subject of streams. 
Fairer than all the daughters of pride among the lakes of Vermont 
lies Willoughby, the queen of them all. Flanked by twin cleft cliifs 
rising to mountain dignity, surrounded by birches, " divinely tall and 
most divinely fair," colored with a richness no gem can rival,, Willoughby 
became known for its drawing power even before the White Mountains. 
A great many years ago a hotel of pretensions stood near it, and the 
sophisticated city dweller came to wonder and worship at the pure, mys- 
terious waters of the lake. But the trend of travel shifted, and Wil- 
loughby was forgotten or slighted by all except those few who felt more 
deeply and understandingly her stately beauty. The completion of a 
good highway past her shores is at length re-awakening us to the attrac- 
tions of a lake more neglected doubtless than any other scenic spot in New 
England. If merit alone be considered, Willoughby should be haunted 
by thousands, where one now gazes on her as she casts aside her morning 
drapery of haze or clothes herself in the colors of sunset. Charming 
from every aspect, each season and each day she has something new to 
show her true admirer. The climb of Mt. Pisgah, not too severe for 
women who have the strength to vote, is an experience not to be missed. 
The writer made it some time ago with a gentleman over seventy years 
of age, who now, after growing younger annually, still lights his days 
by the memory of that outing. The author felt no such charm in the 
ascent of Pike's Peak. 



26 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

Lake Willoughby, pages 84 and 132, and its roads, pages 60, 79, and 
296, while bounded by many small cottages, is still unspoiled by the 
garish features so objectionably present at many resorts. To the quiet 
and the appreciative this lake offers pleasures secret and serene. 

To the north, Memphremagog spreads broadly her fine waters, and 
reaches well into Canada. From her bluffs, pages 95, 103, and 119, ap- 
pear broad expanses to be explored from Newport. Doubtless the fisher- 
man and the sailor find all they ask — or should ask — on her broad 
bosom. The mountains gird her northwestern shores. The shimmer- 
ing reflections dance noiselessly, and the colored shadows play over moun- 
tain and water until the beholder loses his heart to their witchery and 
elusive evanescence. Fine outlooks are had as one approaches Newport 
from the north. Excepting Champlain this is the most extensive of 
Vermont lakes. 

Bomoseen has long been popular. We have given glimpses of this 
lake from the east, pages 91 and 96. 

A little way from Brandon, a pleasing village and a desirable head- 
quarters, is Lake Dunmore. Birches, as on pages 96 and 108 surround 
it and grace the trails that lead to itj while a drive, more or less near its 
shores, follows its outline. In its name the lake shows the influence of 
Scotch settlers, who, by using a nomenclature borrowed from their own 
heather-grown hills, have given to us romantic suggestions of much im- 
aginative appeal. Other pictures of the lake and the fine birch roads 
that lead to it, are at the bottom of page 40 and on page 296. 

The great extent and historic and present day importance of Cham- 
plain dominates too much, perhaps, the thought of the tourist. A sail 
over its waters, or a view from its eastern shore, gives a noble and endless 
panorama of the Adirondacks, which are really a more important feature 
of Western Vermont scenery than are her own Green Mountains. The 
cliffs of Champlain, page 76, are bold; and Rock Creek Park, also on 
page 76, borders the shore of the lake at Burlington. 

It is not feasible to narrate what rambles about the many tiny lakes of 



VILLAGES OF VERMONT 29 

Vermont the author has enjoyed. That about Joe's Pond, near Dan- 
ville, is only one of many. This little lake, resting for the most part in 
quiet sylvan hollows, hidden from the world, pure, deep, and alluring, 
furnishes many delights. 



IV. VILLAGES OF VERMONT 

OF all places the village is the one where human nature is best studied 
and most thoroughly enjoyed. In a Vermont village there is just 
the right number of people for each to know the other. Here the re- 
straining influence of the morally sane is felt more powerfully than in any 
other human community. Very shame, arising from living, as on a stage, 
in the sight of all one's fellows, holds the naturally unlovely mortal to an 
outward conformity to common sense ideals. The village may have its 
miser, but he is not wholly abandoned to his idol. A common need, 
and the knowledge that all his neighbors know he is holding out against 
offering his help, is the most moving social and moral force to mellow 
his crusty soul. In the village, virtues and graces shine with quiet splen- 
dor. Here the saint, the nurse, unpaid but loved, the good and well- 
to-do citizen, all live in the presence of their brothers, like Job of old. 

In the village there is about the proper intellectual stimulus to be 
enjoyable and good for the average mind. The common man there 
feels the simpler humor of life and responds to its gentle stimulus. 
Neighbor touches up neighbor with sallies of pleasant wit, not too biting, 
not too brilliant. In fact the village is a world in a nutshell, with its 
play of passion. 

The quiet sensible villager is under no delusions such as the unsophisti- 
cated city cartoonist puts upon him. In his sufficient homestead he esti- 
mates properly his own abilities and his relation to the broad aspects of 
life. He knows himself for what he is — no peasant, no groundling, 
but an independent thinker, who, while he does not hope to set the river 



30 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

afire, still knows how to keep it in bounds, to use it and enjoy it. He 
is the salt of human society, the natural progressive conservative who 
holds the world to its steady course and prevents a too dangerous swing 
of the pendulum. 

Not a few villagers have remained villagers because of circumstances. 
Often, left in charge of home acres or local interests, they have philo- 
sophically accepted the duties laid upon them, sometimes paying ofF from 
the family property the portions of the brothers and sisters and living 
themselves on the old estates. This task of making a meager inheritance 
yield dowries and stipends calls for uncommon ability, such as brainy city 
lawyers often deny to the villager and attempt in vain to copy. 

That the villager or the farmer belongs to a mediocre mentality whose 
dullness may be the proper butt of urban minds, is a great mistake. By 
the very meagerness of the physical resources at his hand, the villager 
is called on to execute tasks that might well appall the brilliant and the 
learned, and prove too much for a man of affairs in world marts. As a 
tree growing in the open strikes root more broadly and deeply, and sends 
out stout and decorative branches, while its forest brother has merely a 
tuft at the top and if exposed falls in the first storm, so the village dweller 
usually develops more nearly to a rounded man than his city brother, 
and sees life in larger proportions. As we look at America's vastest 
metropolis, developed to over-swollen congestion, we are reminded of 
the extremely narrow provincialism that commonly marks its untravelled 
residents. Life can be smaller and narrower in a great city than any- 
where else on earth. Such centers must be fed by the stronger men like 
those who for generations have streamed forth from Vermont and have 
become ruling influences in the cities. But the Vermonter who remained 
at home often chose the better part. Man for man the urban is no match 
for the rural mind. 

Vermont's only city that fairly seems a city is Burlington, with the 
possible exception of Rutland. And neither of these, happily, has far 
outgrown the marks and merits of the village. The entire state is a 



VILLAGES OF VERMONT 33 

succession of communities of two to five or six thousand, each possessing 
most of those features that make life good. They lack, indeed, in their 
churches, the brilliant eloquence of great preachers, but their pulpits are 
occupied by men who think and who make their hearers think. The 
villager may have fewer books to read than his city friends, but he is 
better read for having less to read. His village library is digested be- 
cause it is not too various and huge. He knows the great thoughts of 
the ages, and places himself in harmony with the life around him. He 
knows better than the labor leader the futility of political nostrums, tried 
and tried in vain in all their specious aspects since the days of the Greeks. 
You can fool a great part of the world, but you cannot fool the typical 
English or Scotch Vermonter by an argument that anything except charac- 
ter in the citizen can raise a strong state. 

This quality of political soundness, such as we saw in Senator Edmunds, 
and later in Judge Ide, is the emphatic mark of the Vermonter. He does 
not go off half-cocked. Good judgment, shown so clearly in his home af- 
fairs, is equally apparent in him when he goes forth on national errands. 
He does not grow excited. Like Dewey, who calmly ordered his officer to 
fire when ready, the average Vermonter fires when ready, neither before 
nor after, and with a cool head and untrembling arm he hits the mark, if 
anybody can. 

The good qualities of canniness without its taint of selfishness, of 
caution that can be daring when it is ready to strike, are admirable features 
of Vermonters. A Vermonter in a business of some dimensions had with 
him younger men who carried out the usual routine but sometimes reached 
for that which might overset them. I once asked this man, after he had 
been to his office many years, if he still took an active part in business. 
" Yes, I go every day," he replied, " and once in a while I say No." 
The quiet drollery of the wise experienced face was irresistible. The 
strength of the hills is in the blood of these men. They love things 
worth loving and hate what is hateful. Getting together numerous things 
and counting the congeries of pelf is one man's life; gaining poise, and 



34 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

enjoying today in such a manner that tomorrow is more enjoyable, is 
another and better man's life. 

How far the land he lives in makes the Vermonter is not easy to say. 
We know, however, that the man fits the state and that state and man 
react eflFectively and satisfactorily. If the state does not form its men it 
favors the development of those qualities most admirable and most hopeful 
in citizens of a state which we pray may last long, the stars of its flag 
still reproducing the beauty and strength of the stars above us. 

The mountains, then, of Vermont are not too high for its citizens to 
climb, its valleys not too profound for them to develop. Its background 
is one of strength, quietness, and hope. It has mysteries like every 
human character that is not shallow. It suggests wealth of resource, and 
offers a theater for courage and hardy effort — the kind of courage and 
hardihood that is not afraid to do what it were well to have done. 

Hence the Vermont villager is satisfied that his home is good and suited 
to the enrichment of life, stimulative to those faculties which we like 
to see saliently in our brothers. In his valley, nestled between the hills, 
he rationally tries to develop that kind of a community, which, to a wise 
aeronaut, would appear appropriate, learning to grapple human problems 
manfully, and to leave a memory that will impress mankind with the 
worth and dignity of life. 

Historians have often elaborated the development of the small Greek 
city, and have found much to commend in the kind of human stimulus 
it afforded. We are strongly of opinion that a Vermont village, un- 
walled, tends to build up a better average individual than did the ancient 
Greek city. The " village Hampden " may grow here to perfection, 
but he goes forth to stand for all that the original greater Hampden 
stood. There is no bucolic narrowness here such as delineated in Gray's 
Elegy. There is plenty of timber for a national structure in the Ver- 
mont character. That it is not all applied need not so much fret us. 
The finest use of character is its very being. If Vermont raises men of 
good bone and fine lineaments, that is what the state wants and that is 




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FARMS AND FARMERS OF VERMONT 37 

what they came into the world to be. If they are not drafted into the 
broader concerns of life, it is satisfactory to see they are grand material. 
The Vermont village has its particularly loved mountain and stream. 
The sweep of its hill road is photographed on the villager's mind from 
the days of barefoot wandering. The whole community physically and 
humanly blends, fits, and interplays. Of all retreats for the overwrought 
mind, of all satisfactory settings for human residence, the Vermont vil- 
lage perhaps makes a stronger appeal than communities of any other 
state. Though the influx of the Canadian is changing the better con- 
ditions, there are still many places where the race of the first settlers 
is predominant, and here in a community delightful from its easily com- 
mensurable bounds, one understands and places one's self in a cozy corner 
of an excellent world. 



V. FARMS AND FARMERS OF VERMONT 

SOME years ago the author travelled two hundred miles through a 
fine agricultural country without seeing anything sufficiently pic- 
turesque to call for a pause. But this cannot be done in Vermont. Here 
is the state of the ideal farm. A farm which can oflfer nothing but broad 
acres, fails in answering the dreams of those millions who have, or in- 
tend sometime to have, a place to feed their souls as well as their bodies. 
Vermont farms are so often nestled in a bowl of the hills, and so com- 
monly have individual features which appeal to the lover of home, that 
perhaps they excel the farms of all other states. Certainly all regions 
with a rolling contour, trees, and streams give promise of rural home- 
steads, each having its charm. But in Vermont there is such a home- 
stead around every corner. 

These farms can be named. What city man would not pay almost 
double for a place well named? The poverty of names is one of the 
humiliations of average human nature. How many thousand " Lake- 



38 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

view " or " Maplewood " farms do we pass? But here in Vermont Is 
a constant challenge to name a country place by a distinctive appellation. 
Here may be " Dell Dale," or " Green Rock," or " Elm Crest Farm." 
On the fine slopes why should we not find " Jefferson Downs," " Man- 
chester Lea," " Bradford Mead? " We pass daily what could be known 
as " Moss Cliff," or " Crag Crest," or " Green Dome Farm." But just 
as a countryside allows fair birch monarchs by the roadside, trees for 
which the appreciative would pay a king's ransom, to be tagged with 
advertising, so it allows its best rural assets to go unnamed. Sentiment 
in farm names goes far to make the farm alluring. " Happy Valley " 
is found, and " Apple Knoll " may be. " Westover " and " Eastover " 
and perhaps the other points of the compass have been well and wisely 
used. " Elmunder " is better than " The Elms." And even " Elm- 
over " might do at a pinch. It could be varied as " Elmo'er." Why 
not " Broadoak Farm?" Or " Leeholme," or "holme" as the last 
syllable preceded by the name of the owner? 

The flowers and the trees found around a country place afford abun- 
dant material for a play of fancy in inventing names. " Aspenmoor," 
" Maple Hollow," and " Laurel Glade " readily suggest themselves. 
A name frankly taken from the family that inherits the acres or hopes 
to hold them affords at least a distinctive name, as " Gale Hall " or 
" Vining House " or " Marshall Place." The English are past masters 
in this matter of names, as perhaps we shall be when we have a back- 
ground of a thousand years. But why wait? If one effort to get a 
name were made where now a thousand strains are endured for the sake 
of a farm wall, we might have a countryside like a poem. 

The persons who named the towns along the Connecticut in Vermont 
attained no small degree of pleasing and historic suggestions in Barnet, 
Piermont, Fairlee, Bradford, Ely, Thetford, Westminster, while the 
Indian names are usually euphonious — though hard to spell. Why 
should we try to spell them? The Indians did not, but even varied 
their pronunciation until a half dozen, originally identical, grew to be 
merely similar names. 



FARMS AND FARMERS OF VERMONT 41 

But the Vermont farm, still to be named, was not forgotten in the 
layout of the world's surface. Each of a multitude has a full quota of 
all the features which enrich and vary the farm life. A maple orchard 
every farm has without doubt. A pasture — often the most fascinating 
of all landscapes to lead us on — a wood lot, a meadow, an upper field, 
an apple orchard. 

Farm life becomes attractive in proportion to its variety. The Ver- 
mont farm calls at every season for attention to some part of its well- 
drained acres. The winter has its work in the wood, getting out for the 
next winter its store for heating the farmhouse. Maple and beech and 
birch, all abundant in Vermont, are all admirable for their intense heat- 
ing powers. The old maple that for generations has shaded a corner 
of the pasture and given of its sweetness in sugaring time must be felled 
at last. Its finer portions, perhaps, go into a new floor or a turned chair, 
to call to mind its ancient worth. The gnarled portion on the hearth 
sends out a fitful play of flame from the knotholes. So the tree, first 
shade, then sweetness, becomes warmth, and throughout its career unites 
its destiny delightfully with the farmer and his home. It is a life which 
weaves itself, man and nature, in an intimate, harmonious, and poetic 
unity. Indignant poets may mourn that the toiler is so little above the 
sod he turns. There is a far nobler aspect of country life — that which 
recognizes and joys in the interplay of nature and man — himself the 
finest product of her fecundity, but nevertheless not improved by for- 
getting his origin. The man who knows soils and rocks, who under- 
stands the procession of the seasons, and fits himself to take his part at 
the right moment in their bounty; the man who grows familiar with the 
form and direction of the clouds over his own particular hill, and tests 
his planting and his harvest time by quiet but unmistakable tokens in 
nature; the man who adjusts himself and his labors so that heat and cold, 
wind and calm, freshet and frost, all bring their toll to him, and autumn 
lays her crown on his labors, is as content as a mortal can be, or perhaps 
ought to be. 



42 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

The farm with its good roadj its quick little motor carj its wired and 
wireless touch with all the pulsing world; its self-contained various 
wealth, has presented, or now presents, to nearly all children of Adam 
an aspect too winning to be forgotten even if forsaken. 

The Vermont farmer, so far as he can plan his efforts to raise, rather 
than to buy, animal fodder, has in his rich corn and grain fields every- 
thing to produce abundance and a competence. Of course numerous 
farm journals, edited usually from easy chairs overlooking city roofs, 
are full of certain rules, following which the farmer is to become the 
plethoric fountain of all our wealth. 

But when that glamour is removed, and we come down to the torrid 
labor of haying, to the grappling with drenched, plowed lands of plant- 
ing time and the unseasonable conduct of the year, never dependable for 
a day, we recognize that the farmer requires more faith than any other 
worker. But what the broad-minded farmer knows is, that in the process 
of the years, nature is not an impossible ally. If she skimps during one 
season, so that the blossoms are frosted, she doubles a good gift another 
year, and the forehanded and careful, taking the elements as they come, 
win at last. Those who complain of sameness in farm life, plainly know 
nothing about it. 

Neither is the monotony which tends to establish itself in the life of 
every woman present on the farm more than in the city home, when 
modern change is taken into account. We wonder whether the great 
war, which often drove women into the garden, and even the orchard 
and hay field, was not a blessing in disguise so far as farm life is con- 
cerned? Italian women never spend much time indoors, a fact for which 
their climate is partly accountable. But they have chosen the better part, 
and hate walls. There are many things the farmer's wife does in the 
way of indoor decorative work which would better be left undone. The 
woman in the garden, mixing the flowers with the cabbages, as they do in 
England, is a happier woman — happier, at least, in the results obtained. 

Turning to economic matters, it is only justice to say that pinching 




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FARMS AND FARMERS OF VERMONT 45 

poverty in the country can, as elsewhere, be soul depressing. Where 
such a condition exists, of course it can only be overcome by the steady 
lift, backed by moral decency, of all members of the family. But is 
not city poverty, in one or two rooms, far more bitter and shameful than 
anything we see in the country? The country poor get for themselves 
a limited independence, at least, not contingent on the ups and downs 
of markets. The peas grow as well in a financial panic as in booming 
times. Who, possessing a cow and a cornfield, needs to know what Wall 
Street is doing? One lives nearer the truth and the heart of things who 
lives on the sod. Whatever of misery the French peasant may need to 
undergo with his old-fashioned methods, is not a criterion for the Vermont 
farmer with his tractor and his harrow. 

The relation of a farm to the study of the beautiful was well known 
to ardsts, who, like Constable, have enthralled generations by their de- 
piction of country life. And today a small homestead, with its stone 
walls, its generous shade, its flanking orchard and protecting hill, its 
purling brook and upland pasture whence the cattle come lowing home, 
is the proper picture of the ideally seated human family. Such a picture 
appeals to the feelings as much as to the aesthetic sense, and when its 
appeal is thus doubled it is irresistible. 

The Vermont farmer joins with the Maine farmer, in New England, 
in being solely devoted to his trade. The farmers in other New England 
states play at farming, but it is easy to tell, even from afar, where metro- 
politan dollars have tried unsuccessfully to give a farm the true aspect 
it should have. The first effort of an urban purchaser of a farm is de- 
voted to walls. They have more of his investment than the fields behind 
them. To be sure they are not needed. But the city purchaser has not 
yet come to see the primary law, that nothing is beautiful if unnecessary. 
Cattle no longer wander at will, therefore the pasture is the only portion 
of a farm that requires a fence. Economically speaking, no farm can 
succeed if it is all fenced.. The fence is a greater item of expense than 
the farm itself. But the old stone walls, so fast being fed to the hopper 



4.6 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

of the stone crushers, were built for necessity and were the commonest 
agreeable features of the Vermont farm. Where they still exist a little 
attention, not too much, gives them a harmonious aspect, melting into the 
landscape with artistic effect. 

Unnecessary, modern stone walls may be displeasing, but the fearfully 
obnoxious feature of poles to carry all sorts of wires is the biggest prac- 
tical question of the farm, if its beauty is to be retained. A few more 
such destructive storms as we have experienced in recent years may cause 
the companies that erect these monstrosities to see that, in the long run, a 
shallow pipe may more economically carry their wires than a pole line. 
The increasing cost of wood, relatively to metal, will help to bring about 
this improvement. A telegraph pole is a very expensive affair, and is 
continually, and happily, becoming more expensive. Perhaps wireless 
methods may solve this highly important problem, but that it must be 
solved if life is not to be unspeakably ugly, is obvious. The leaning and 
ruinous silo, too, built by the farmer who fatuously supposes it will stand, 
will, of course, be supplanted by the masonry silo, such as we see in 
France, whence it was adopted. 

A striking economic feature of Vermont farms is their occasional cir- 
cular or dodecagonal barns. A barn with a silo for a hub and animals 
tied in the circle around it appeals to the practical sense of the Ver- 
monter who thus secures the maximum space for the least material. An- 
other economic feature, and a very usual arrangement whereby the hay- 
rack is driven into the barn by a rising bridge, is facilitated by the sloping 
sites available for barns. Thus the load is quickly dumped off without 
lifting, and falls, as from an attic, to a ground floor. The pride of the 
farmer is his barn. His convenient material for barns saves him from 
the wasteful stack storage. It is thought bad form to have a house that 
is not greatly exceeded in size by the barn. Such buildings, with a corn 
house, and perhaps a shop, and on the edge of the wood a sugar house, 
are an effective combination of practicality and poetry, especially if well 
set, amply shaded, or ensconced in the blooms of May. 



A MORE BEAUTIFUL VERMONT 49 

Equipped with such a farm, the Vermont farmer is, however, often 
farther from market than is compatible with daily journeys hence. But 
his products are partly intensive. Of the butter, cheese, sugar, and the 
more concentrated articles, he can easily draw large loads down hill, for 
there in the valley is the railway always, and the market town generally. 
The first principle of the good Vermont farmer is that all the heavy articles 
should be produced at home and never drawn up hill. 



VI. A MORE BEAUTIFUL VERMONT 

' I "^HE most exquisite birches we ever discovered grew on a slope look- 
, -*- ing down upon the Connecticut. Among them there were huge 
and hoary boles. Below them lay the fallen leaders of an earlier day 
in orderly and picturesque confusion. A long river reach opened be- 
tween their branches. The soft pasture sod was springy beneath our 
feet. The grouping of the birches was perfect; the setting was superior 
in its attraction to any public park; it was worth a day's journey to view 
it. The dwellers near it had an asset to feed their souls; it was worthy 
to be cherished as their most important possession. We took dinner at 
the nearest farmhouse, not forty rods from our discovery, and while 
there learned that the farmer's wife, who had lived on that farm all her 
days, which were now few, had never noticed nor felt the beauty of the 
birch hillside. It was necessary to take her to the spot before she knew 
what we were talking about. Such a lamentable lack of recognition of local 
beauty is not uncommon. We once said to a homesteader whose place 
faced a lofty mountain, " What is the name of this mountain? " " Gosh, 
I do'n know," he replied. Of course he was not a Vermonter! Much 
experience has shown that the finest features of a landscape are often 
lost to those who live near them, to those who should feel their appeal. 
In the search for beauty the prime error is in imagining we must go 
far afield. We are continually being begged to ascend this or that height 



50 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

for the " view," when from the valleys where we are the mountains are 
more beautiful than anything we could see from their summits. Lofty 
prospects may serve to vary our experience and divert the mind, but near 
and exquisite prospects are more numerous and clearer. When we glance 
at a distant forest we miss the witching contrast of a hemlock twig when 
the pale green growth tips the dark needles of a previous year. One 
elm in the dooryard, understood and loved, is far better than thousands 
miles away. Ever the uncounted assets are the larger part of our in- 
heritance. People in the south of Vermont will sometimes journey all 
the way north to see Mount Mansfield only to learn, if they are at all 
discriminating, that they have passed on their way many peaks more 
attractive. 

Little by little the villages of Vermont are coming to know that the 
best possessions of their state have been overlooked. With this awaken- 
ing some have leaped into public view and are advertising their particular 
region as the rival of Switzerland. As if Vermont had one feature to 
suggest that cold perpendicularity on the other side of the water! 

What can be done, however, to make the beauty of Vermont more 
accessible, and therefore better known.? In answer, there are several 
suggestions . 

For a few weeks somebody with an eye for beauty should travel with 
a woodsman over Vermont roads, and on vantage points open, at the road- 
sides, between the bushes, little vistas of mountain and stream. There 
are many sections where one may drive for miles without an opening to 
permit a vision of the beauty that flows beside his way or rises in appeal 
above him. The Messrs. Smiley, of Lake Mohonk, have shown us what 
can be done in revealing attractive views. They have made every turn 
on their estates a box in nature's wide, pure theatre. Pity that we must 
go to another state to find a satisfactory example of doing things as they 
should be done! There is no reason in the world why, in Vermont, 
the average wood road along a stream should not become entrancing. 
We speak feelingly on this subject, after having fought our way through 



A MORE BEAUTIFUL VERMONT 53 

brush for twenty years in order to see what every interest of the residents 
of the region should have made it easy to see. If ten per cent, of the 
sums spent for " publicity " in any resort state were expended in revealing 
the beauties of that state, visitors would flock to it. 

Also, there ought to be erected, occasionally, simple signs pointing to 
peaks or streams and giving their names. We have been amused to see 
hundreds of elms on Boston Common marked " American Elm." But 
on the other hand we have been saddened that the dwellers in regions of 
charming scenery do not care enough for their guests or for themselves 
to put up a sign post. 

Another moral obligation of every state is to prevent the attaching of 
notices to wayside trees. In practice the advertiser naturally chooses the 
noblest trees he can find. 

A somewhat more extensive but worth while work should be the 
trimming off of scrub for considerable stretches along the roadside so 
that the trees left may be allowed to develop gracefully. There is many 
a farm in Vermont with a border of birches, which, if given a chance, 
would shortly double the value of the farm. It may bring a blush to our 
faces to urge for beauty a consideratioin so purely commercial, but if such 
a motive is effective, the world will be the gainer. We can state with a 
sad candor that we cannot remember many spots in Vermont where any 
advantage has been taken by the owner of the natural material in his 
roadside border. He will, indeed, often care for a row of maples, because 
he can derive revenue from them 5 but he has an opportunity for proving 
that he does not live for sugar alone, by giving his birches and beeches 
half a chance. It is not desirable to establish park conditions, still less 
to arrange trees in rows. A hatchet an hour a year, judiciously applied, 
would double the pleasure of the farmer and his friends in the roadside 
beauties that could then be trusted to display themselves. 

Many of our railways are planting running roses on the steep slopes 
of their right of way. These need no care when well rooted, and are 
said to be of the highest economic value in holding banks from wash. 



54 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

It is, perhaps, hoping too much to think that our roadsides ever will be 
treated like the railroad banks; but one need travel only a short distance 
after torrential rains to see that the gullied slopes should have been held 
by sowing the seeds of various tenacious plants. The charge upon the 
towns of restoring the numerous washed banks of roads, especially of the 
new state roads, is immense, and it is nearly all avoidable. We cherish 
the hope that self interest, if not the love of beauty, may cause the neces- 
sary care in protecting highway property. 

Perhaps another easily accomplished work has been overlooked. Here 
and there various old farm buildings have been allowed to fall to ruin. 
As a menace in case of fire, a temptation to tramps, and an eyesore to 
the community, the public should, and readily could, compel the destruc- 
tion of such property. In more thickly settled communities such meas- 
ures are taken. We have only to extend the custom, and this can be 
done with little public expense by giving away the ruinous edifices for 
lumber and fuel. 

Most of our states have such areas of congested squalor, that a vast and 
perhaps intolerable burden would rest upon their communities should 
they attempt any wholesale millennium measures to bring back to beauty 
their scarred and outraged landscapes. But in Vermont it is very dif- 
ferent. Very little requires to be done. It is the most favorable state 
in the Union in which to undertake such improvements. The entire state 
is an admirable experimental field for demonstrating that man and nature 
may live in harmony with beauty. 

This work is a moral obligation. If cleanliness is next to godliness, 
beauty is a part of godliness. What deed recorded in a registrar's office 
gives any moral right to disfigure a portion of the fair earth? 

As regards the palisades of the Hudson the public conscience was 
awakened, and measures were taken to prevent their ruin. An extension 
of public action in like cases of neglect or degradation would make all 
America beautiful. It was originally made beautiful. Nature contin- 
ually attempts to cover the wounds we make, as on the battlefields where 



VERMONT COTTAGE SITES 57 

lilies grow. With so much incentive as Vermont possesses in her natural 
advantages, so largely unspoiled as yet, it would be a crime against the best 
in our natures did we not attempt to preserve and reveal the graces of her 
hills and streams. 

Fifty years ago such suggestions were ridiculed. But the moral sense 
of obligation to the world we live in, as well as toward its inhabitants, 
is being quickened. If we can give much joy to generations, by arranging 
before their eyes panoramas of exquisite contour, we have quick reward 
for our efforts, and make life richer for thousands. 

Nor are such efforts the rich man's fad, or exclusive privileges. It is 
the cottage home that is susceptible of greatest improvement. It is cottages 
that we picture and that people love to dwell upon, and in, rather than 
palaces, which cannot look at home in any landscape. Such a setting as 
that on page 295 cannot be secured except by keeping to small scales. 
As the diamond is concentrated glory, so the little cottage is concentrated 
beauty, when intelligence sets to work to make it so. This thought com- 
pels further elucidation in the next chapter. 



VII. VERMONT COTTAGE SITES 

THERE is scarcely a farm in Vermont without an excellent, often 
an ideal, cottage site, but frequently little advantage has been taken 
of natural surroundings. In the old days, following the peasant habit 
of Europe, the dwelling was placed just against the highway, where the 
rooms were soon buried in dust and swarming with flies. The barn, also, 
was so placed as to shut off all prospect, though in this respect Vermont 
went far ahead of some parts of France and Germany, where the compost 
heap is directly before the front door. But thus placing a cottage is all 
unnecessary. A location on a birch hillside, with the land still rising be- 
hind, overlooking a winding road, a valley with its silver stream below 



58 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

and a lovely outline of hills beyond, is as easy to find in Vermont as it 
is difficult to find in many other states. 

A suitable site having been selected, the beautifying of the cottage sur- 
roundings should receive attention. Nature has provided groupings of 
trees by the side of which a little house may be like a nest. We allow 
the birds to outstrip us in taste. They must wonder at our failure to 
make use of natural advantages. Not seldom a new house is erected 
without a tree near it. In towns in other states such a thing may be un- 
avoidable, but never in Vermont. We should say there may be a thou- 
sand old sites surrounded by noble trees, in Vermont, where once dwellings 
stood. Such a setting is often more valuable than the dwelling to be 
erected. Trees should not be too near the house, however. They seem 
to know how to arrange themselves, if we do our part and refrain from 
intruding on their dignity yet approach near enough to feel their friend- 
liness. Shrubs may be used about the cottage, but they are better suited 
to the city, where the effort is more to hide than to disclose the dwelling, 
but a background of evergreens increases .winter and summer comfort. Of 
green grass about a Vermont cottage there can be no lack, for here the 
sward is green more months in the year than elsewhere in America, unless 
artificially stimulated. The old-fashioned garden, for those who can 
give it attention, is, like a Thetford garden, page 196, a heart's delight. 
But nature is so prodigal in Vermont, that such a garden, at the side of a 
house with a naturally rolling lawn in front, and on the other side shel- 
tered by trees that, like Topsy, "just growed," is almost too much of 
comfort and joy for one season. 

The following are a few rules for simple Vermont dwellings and their 
location: 

1. They should be well removed from the road. 

2. They should never be lower, but preferably higher than the road. 

3. The site should be capable of natural drainage. 

4. Good trees should be near. 

5. The approach should be winding. Straight Dutch effects are not 
favored in a hill country. 



THE TREES OF VERMONT 6i 

6. Porches ought to be small, and never surround two sides of a 
house. • 

7. Since a house needs sunlight most of the year it is better, if 
people desire large verandas, to build them like an open summer 
house, detached, or touching the dwelling at only one corner. 

8. The rooms should be few and large. 

9. The roof should have a sharp pitch, not less than forty per cent. 
Italian roof architecture is out of place in this part of the world 
and has caused much trouble. The sharper the pitch, up to sixty- 
seven degrees, the more enduring the roof, the better the cham- 
bers, and the more attractive the eflFect. 

10. The ceilings should be low. 

11. Fireplaces, at least in two rooms, should be provided, and their 
construction, like that of the house itself, should be of native 
materials. 

12. Avoid a multiplicity of buildings in the farmstead. The shed 
should connect with the house, and all the other buildings should 
be under one roof; even a ,wire-lined corn room with a ventilated 
side can be accommodated in the common barn, stable, and tool 
house. Thus great outlay is saved, and the artistic possibilities 
are increased. If under modern conditions a garage is required 
it should be connected with the shed. 

13. Modern plumbing is clearly the due of the Vermont housekeeper. 



VIII. THE TREES OF VERMONT 

THE favorite companion tree for a Vermont house is the elm. It 
grows more gracefully in America than in England, and is the 
typical tree in the well-watered northern part of our country. It carries 
its roots near the surface, and sometimes in dry weather their outline 
may be traced by the browning of the grass above them. 



62 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

Besides the usual forms of the elm, there are the drooping, or weeping 
elm, which is very rare, and the common feathered elm. The latter 
carries down almost to the ground small feathery branches, and derives 
its name from the feathered leg of the dooryard fowl. It is a very grace- 
ful variety and most pleasing. In addition, there is the vase elm, which 
for symmetry leaves little to be desired. Examples appear in this vol- 
ume. 

Curiously, the elm when growing in a forest, as at Danville where 
there is the only true elm forest we have noticed, is one of the most un- 
couth trees possible. In such a situation it has one clumsy branch, like 
a ship's knee, almost at the very top, and the tree stops suddenly without 
tapering grace. Wonderfully rigid braces can be made, however, from 
the wood of this great awkward crotch. 

But when, as is usual, the elm grows by itself, or at least so that one 
elm dominates others, the shapes of its top, while many, are always charm- 
ing, and some of its side branches are most interesting. The elm often 
indulges itself by sending out one branch with a quick turn near the 
trunk. This branch is called " the friendly crook " and is really a char- 
acteristic feature. One will see it perhaps once in fifty trees, but when 
seen again it is so like the previous example as to be very remarkable. 

The single elm has a most sentimental appeal when it reaches out over 
a road or cottage as in Bennington, on page 19, or in Danville, page 295. 
Sometimes one great elm, as on page 32, at Dorset, dominates the region 
and gives an effect of real magnificence. At its best the elm has a majesty 
never reached by any other northern tree, and only approached by the 
oak. In groups, perhaps, the elm gives the most satisfying eflFect. 
Standing about a pool, as on the north branch of the Winooski, above 
Montpelier, on page 36, elms are a continual joy, and in common with 
other trees, they surpass gardens in the joy they give, because they are 
beautiful all the year, even in winter. What can be finer than their 
manner of draping themselves over their beloved brooks, as at the top 
of page 55, near Tunbridge, and on page 59 in the same region? Some- 



THE TREES OF VERMONT 6$ 

times they open like a window, as on the White River, page 39. Near 
Brandon they line the road, as on pages 43 and 88, and arch the brook, 
as at Forestvale, page 123. Again, slender and straight, as on the Swift 
River, pages 136 and 275, with little spread of limb, on page 240, they 
seem specially designed to wake our sense of beauty. It was not strange 
that the ancients fell into the worship of trees, because at their best they 
possess a dignity, power, and protective character, and have a great age, 
thus enhancing our wonder at their strength and beauty, which are the 
wedded features of a true divinity. 

Under favorable conditions, the elm lives two hundred years, and even 
fifty more, but that rarely. Five generations is not a very long life 
for an elm. The tree plants itself for the most part by the fence rows 
and roadsides where the blowing seeds lodge. There is many a Ver- 
mont farm with a half dozen fields whose old and even obliterated fences 
are still marked out by rows of elms irregularly spaced. There they 
scatter themselves lavishly over the pastures, and spring up at odd corners 
of the farm buildings, and get footholds by the brook, until they give a 
decisive character to the farm, and decorate as no landscape architect could 
possibly do. 

It is a tribute to the farmer's aesthetic sense that he permits the elm 
to grow, for it has been shown that he loses ten dollars a year for every 
good sized elm growing by a plowed field under intensive culture. The 
crop growth near the tree is atrophied. Happily uses are now being 
found for elm wood, so that when the trees are felled something of this 
loss in crops may be counteracted. While in the days of " The One 
Hoss Shay " 

" The hubs were of oak from the settler's elum, 
Alas for their timbers, they couldn't sell 'em," 

in these days machinery has at least this merit, that it can shape the elm 
for many desirable purposes and consequently has found a use for its 
wood. We are glad to believe, however, that the preservation of the elm 



66 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

meant a positive sense of joy in its beauty to the Vermont farmer. Long 
may its supple branches wave, accentuating the fairest lands on earth! 

But the elm is not the tree that has brought Vermont most fame and 
most riches. That distinction belongs to the maple. It is the sugar from 
her maples, like the turkeys from her fields, that has attracted attention 
from afar. We presume that the maples of Maine and Michigan have 
sap as sweet as those of Vermont, but it has not been utilized to such great 
extent nor been so widely advertised. 

The maple, however, has made an irresistible appeal to the Vermont 
farmer for several reasons besides its sugar-bearing characteristic. He 
loves to surround his buildings and line his roadsides with these trees for 
their shade and their value for timber or firewood when old age comes. 
The tree begins its life as a seedling with the life of the farmer's boy 
and reaches old age with him. 

Howells mistakenly assigns the gnarled shape of maples to their suc- 
cessive tappings for sap. But the maple is usually symmetrical and never 
seems to be deformed by yielding its sweetness. It is doubtful, either, 
if its life is shattered by the process, as the amount of sap taken from the 
tree is a very small part of that which reaches its branches. Maples often 
assume a conical shape, very striking, especially when contrasted with the 
somewhat irregular growth of the elm and the always irregular shape 
of the birch. A maple top may be a true ball. Its shade is very dense, 
and its leaves in spring reach amazingly quick maturity. 

The rock, or sugar maple, which forms a feature of farm scenery in 
Vermont, has a near brother in the water, or swamp maple, the coloring 
of which in spring is fully as gorgeously red as in the autumn. The 
lower portions of New England are richer in the water maple and corre- 
spondingly poorer in the sugar maple. Hard and soft are other names 
applied to these fine trees, the sugar, or rock maples, being hard, and 
affording an intense heat as fuel. 

During a recent autumn we threaded many roads of Vermont, reveling 
in the glory of color on the hillsides. And now, since the discovery of 



THE TREES OF VERMONT 69 

coal tar dyes, ,we know that all that splendor of color has been " put 
down," as we say of preserved foods, every autumn since the maple first 
grew. Nothing really good ever perishes — some theologian said it, 
and now some scientist endorses him, and all men believe it, if there is 
good in them. 

It is odd how at different seasons the various forms of vegetation have 
their " innings " in supplying Vermont with beauty. In the spring, when 
apple trees flourish, they seem to fill the landscape, so that one notices 
little else. With the ripening of June, the various delicate gradations 
of deciduous foliage express themselves with an almost equal emphasis, 
and the apple tree is unnoticed. With autumn the splendor of color, 
absorbing all the glory of the spectrum, announces its supremacy over the 
hills; and in winter we are impressed by the vast number and predomi- 
nant dark density of the evergreens! Alas for the city dweller, a volun- 
tary slave, shut away from the empurpled hills, the white crests, the 
joyous march of the equinoxes! 

For in winter, too, Vermont is beautiful. A man whom we are all 
glad to count a friend, Mr. Arthur B. Wilder, of Woodstock, with a true 
artist's soul for color, has for many years specialized in the study of Ver- 
mont's winter moods, and preserved them for us on canvas. So well has 
he learned the secrets of light on snow, that we involuntarily reach out, 
in summer, to plunge our hands in the breaking edge of his snowbanks. 

But anything said about Vermont's trees would be one-sided that did not 
give a word in praise of the birch. Increasingly, as one journeys north 
from New York city, he finds the birch becoming larger, more various in 
variety, and finally the tree of dainty decorative quality, exquisite winter 
and summer. This tree does not grow in the south, and the first vision 
of it to a visitor from that region is like the lifting of a curtain on a new 
world. It would be tedious, as it is unnecessary, for us to call attention 
to the complex forms and the innumerable beauties of the birch as shown 
in this book. It is enough to say that the appeal of the birch was the 
first obvious call to the late-developing sense of beauty in the author. 



70 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

We may also point out that the yellow birch, as seen so often by the 
roadside between Woodstock and the crest as one goes to Rutland, is quite 
distinct from the white birch. The yellow birch has a bark colored like 
burnished bronze. The tree reaches large dimensions on the mountain 
slopes, perhaps equalling the maple, and certainly the beech. When huge 
and tall it wholly loses on its trunk the ordinary birch marks and becomes 
dark and ridged by roughened breaks. As the mahogany of New Eng- 
land, it does duty for finishing woods and for furniture. We call to 
mind a certain plutocrat in New York who showed his friends through 
his mansion with a wave of the hand at the woodwork and the phrase, 
" Solid mahogany," not knowing that what he showed was birch. Nor 
was he alone in his delusion. The average layman in woods will not 
distinguish between the two, especially if the wood is from the great 
" black " birch just mentioned. This wood is far stronger than mahogany, 
but lacks the fine, narrow markings in the grain which is characteristic 
of mahogany. We are bound to say, however, that for large effect, the 
birch so often seen in modern doors is rich and very handsome. How 
could wood from a tree so beautiful be anything but beautiful itself! 

There is a marked distinction, again, between the canoe, or salmon-colored 
birch, and the white birch, and another distinction between the latter and 
the gray birch. By all odds the richest wood is the salmon birch, whose 
name very accurately describes its color, when the somewhat lighter tis- 
sue surface is rubbed off the bark. This tree was found indispensable 
to our eastern Indians for the making of canoes, though on the north 
Pacific they burned and hacked out the great cedars into boats that were 
almost ships, carrying forty passengers each. Perhaps our Indians could 
have found some substitute for birch bark, but its admirable qualities for 
their canoes, and its abundance, induced the warrior to seek no further. 

We found many years since a birch monarch measuring ten feet six 
inches around the bole, five feet from the ground, that is, the waist, 
where the white ladies of the wood, as ,well as those of the town, are 
measured. This tree was the parent of those that appear at the bottona 



THE TREES OF VERMONT 73 

of pages 60 and 164. Such virile and exuberant trees as the monarch 
are called " seed birches." This one grew on a slope above the road. 
Some fifty years ago when the road was made, in the old fashion, by 
plowing, seeds from the parent tree lodged in the furrows on each side 
of the road. Hence these beautiful children of a beautiful parent. We 
found afterward a birch six inches larger at the measuring point, five 
feet from the ground, than this " monarch," but this later find perished 
recently. 

The almost purely white birch, especially when growing in clustered 
form, or on a stream bank, is startling in its beauty. Those who see the 
birch at its finest development never forget the experience. One notices 
considerable sections of Vermont .where the birch never grew, or has been 
eliminated from the list of trees. There are other districts where literally 
hundreds of thousands line the hillsides. Seen at a distance the foliage 
largely hides the beauty of the trunks. This is so remarkable that the 
novice may pass mountains covered with birch and not be aware of the 
trees. In early spring, however, they are most striking ,with their count- 
less white boles gleaming in a brilliant afternoon light. 

A single birch often gives tone to an entire landscape. There are 
abundant such instances in this work. One should understand that while 
the birch is not a tree of long life the northern specimens last as long 
as maples. The grey clusters so common on poor land in southern New 
England are frail and more quickly finish their career. In the higher 
regions birches even in Connecticut grow to dignified proportions. 

A traveller is often distressed by the great woodpiles of birch in Ver- 
mont. One feels it is a shame that so much beauty should perish. But 
his view is modified when he learns that a new growth speedily follows 
the cutting of the old and that these beautiful round sticks, which he 
sees in piles, are probably the third cutting from the same wood. There 
is no danger, therefore, that the birch may perish from the Vermont 
hills. Its growth is too spontaneous and no cold stunts it. In fact it 
shares with the evergreen the honor of growing farther north than other 



74 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

deciduous trees. No blight seems to attack it successfully. The bark 
has a bitter quality which apparently renders it immune from most pests. 
Its widespread diflFusion, its willingness to grow under hard conditions, 
its note of brilliance, will doubtless enable it to continue indefinitely the 
daintiest feature of a Vermont landscape. 

The beech is not so widely diffused among us as in England, but its 
sturdy mottled bole, and the unexpected twists of its limbs, no two alike, 
make it a favorite with the lover of trees and the seeker for beauty. Ver- 
mont is richer in the beech than any other New England state, with the 
possible exception of Maine. A beech tree as a lawn decoration is only 
seldom seen in Vermont. But where it is seen its branching is as fasci- 
nating as any tree growth can be. A beech wood in sunshine, when the 
mottling of the soil by flecks of brightness matches so well the mottling 
of the tree trunks, is one of the most delightful visions our thought can 
conceive. A wood of beech, birch, and maple, each setting off the other, 
has a varied charm. The maple leaf, the white birch trunk, and the 
contour of the beech are the three fine features. 

We have mentioned the trees most characteristic of Vermont. Certain 
others are discussed in other books of this series. We have not taken up 
evergreens because they do not as a rule grow on good land. While of 
course there are many evergreens in Vermont, the state is not noted for 
its soft woods. The poplar is a cousin, and often near companion of the 
birch — a poor relation. The oak is not a marked feature of Vermont 
landscapes, but where one is found it forms, if near the homestead, an 
important note, owing to its vast endurance and rugged outline. 




'%££■ 




INTERESTING TOWNS 77 

IX. INTERESTING TOWNS 

TF we were asked to select an attractive large town of Vermont, we 
-^ should perhaps name St. Johnsbury. This community, in its edifices, 
its institutions, and its inhabitants, approaches in some degree toward an 
ideal. Named by Ethan Allen, developed commercially by the Fair- 
banks family, a fine type of the Yankee manufacturer of the days before 
the Civil War, the village of St. Johnsbury gives just the sort of environ- 
ment to make it a desirable habitation. The broad street, where many 
dwellings stand back at a dignified distance, is a fine example of comfort 
without grandeur. While Vermont is too young to possess many good 
old houses, there is one on this street, the Paddock Mansion, which gives 
tone to the entire town. It is said that one of the original Fairbanks 
brothers made its shutters. On page 72, we show from this house a 
charming parlor, and at the bottom of the same page the quaint woodshed 
arches and an old " shay " where children play. Dear old " Uncle Sam " 
Young appears on page 116, taking his leave from this house after a call 
on Mrs. Taylor, the memory of whose unselfish character is an aroma 
sweetening still the traditions of the town. 

Besides having a notable mansion, St. Johnsbury is dignified by several 
stone churches, and, through the munificence of the Fairbanks family, 
by a fine edifice combining library, art gallery, and museum. The old 
academy is another characteristic feature of this village, being, it is said, 
the most progressive, most prosperous, best attended, and for college 
preparatory work, the most successful institution in the state. The rail- 
road and its concomitant evils are kept in a valley below the wide street. 
Fine elms abound. The maple sugar and syrup industry is largely cen- 
tered here, and also its product in candies. The scale works stand by 
themselves on a lower level from the rest of the town so as not to intrude 
on the residences. 

St. Johnsbury is a pleasant center for touring, either into the Vermont 
hill towns, of which Danbury, lying next, is said to be the most beautiful. 



78 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

or toward Lake Willoughby, a drive unsurpassed, or to the upper Con- 
necticut and the fringes of the White Mountains. 

It is gratifying to find, also, in this town a good and leavening number 
of those citizens who embody the much maligned, but absolutely neces- 
sary. New England ideals: a live conscience, an active inquiring mind, and 
a vigorous acceptance of the work and problems of life as they find it. 
Perhaps it would not be too much to say that such a town in its ideals and 
its practical influences means more to America than many other American 
towns of ten times the population. Views about St. Johnsbury are shown 
on pages 235, 236, 268, and at the bottom of pages 55 and 244. 

Among the resort villages of Vermont, where the market interest is 
greater than the manufacturing, we may name Woodstock as a typical 
community. Besides being well supplied with those village institutions 
which make life attractive within its confines, it has a beautiful situation. 
It lies in a little empire of its own, near the mountain summits and on 
the variously appealing Queechee, pages 132, 163, 195, 240. Here was 
brought to its fullest development the merino sheep, the breeding of 
which was so marked an enterprise of the last generation. A fine type 
of breeder, and a deacon of the Congregational church, told me with a 
laugh in his blue eye of an occasion where he was oflFered, and declined, 
for a merino ram a price running into five figures. " It was a case," said 
he, " of two fools met. " 

The merino, of longer pedigree than that of most men, excepting those 
who buy their lineage from delvers in old archives, was doubtless the 
breed of sheep kept by Abraham. The beautifully convoluted horns, the 
strongly humped nose, the luxuriant wool, the involuted folds of skin, 
like the carved linen fold on old chests, the dignified and conceited air 
of an old merino, are enough to call forth a smile of pleasure from the 
dullest pessimist and to satisfy the most discriminating artist. On page 
27 we show Woodstock sheep, in whose blood is enough of the merino 
strain to refine the wool without losing the smoother ordmary contours of 
English sheep. 



1!^ 






INTERESTING TOWNS 8i 

South Woodstock is a wee village, more a cross-roads, whose abandoned 
milldam, with its mirror-like surface broken by the stones, made a delight- 
ful center before the pole evil became chronic. It was more than a score 
of years ago that the scene on page 203 stopped our touring, by carriage, 
for the summer. And it was in and about Woodstock that we first made 
studies of birches, elms, and pastoral scenes, the last of which, on page 
260, called " Feminine Curiosity," had a considerable vogue in its day. The 
sprightly, deer-like alertness of Jersey cows was caught just as they stopped 
to inspect us in their path. The fine shady drives of the upper Quee- 
chee, with their coppery birches, as on page 31 at the bottom 5 the old 
covered bridges at the top of the same page; the birches on page 285 the 
farm bridge arches on the right of the same page; and the haying scene 
at the bottom, are all about Woodstock, as are also the pictures of the 
doorway and the old stagecoach with its wedding party, on page 35. 

In Bennington-on-the-Hill we find the best type, perhaps, of the little 
quiet village, no longer engaged in the world's strenuous activities, yet 
having a large share of dwellers who have made their mark and are per- 
haps now crystallizing their experiences. 

Windsor claims attention from its age, which, while not hoary, may 
seem old by comparison with other Vermont towns. Here is Constitution 
House, an edifice less important architectually than as the birthplace of an 
independent American republic. As one goes up the hill in Windsor he 
sees large square houses and a village reminiscent of the better old villages 
of the Bay State. Windsor has the advantage of contiguity to the fine 
reaches, north and south, of the Connecticut, and the colony of artists and 
authors on its shores. Also, Windsor being large enough for good society 
and near enough to the fine hill country to the west, is a type somewhat 
like St. Jolinsbury, in the character of the men who molded it and in the 
region that surrounds it. 

Continuing our survey of the towns of Vermont, Brattleboro, as the 
successor of Fort Dummer, the first military outpost of the English in 
the state, and as the first town of considerable size in the southeast, claims 



82 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

our interest. It was for four years the residence of Rudyard Kipling, 
whose wife, Caroline Balestier, was born here. The famous " Jungle 
Books " were begun in Brattleboro. The back country is charming al- 
ways, but particularly in apple blossom time. On a hill three miles north 
of the town Kipling built his bungalow, " Naulahka," named for the book 
written in collaboration with Wolcott Balestier, his wife's brother. 

Brandon, many miles northwest of Brattleboro, lies on a plain. It 
is a place not too large for every man to know his neighbor, and is one 
of the most beautiful centers in the state. It is prepared to make a 
visitor's stay there agreeable, either temporarily or permanently. Its 
roads following Otter Creek are fine, from the number of fascinating 
view-points they afford. One can approach from Brandon by short and 
desirable drives the lake region of Dunmore, with its innumerable birches 
and its reflected mountains. Two roads from Dunmore to the north are 
available and worth following, besides the roads to Rutland, Bomoseen, 
and that directly eastward into the mountains. 

Manchester is the center of an increasingly fashionable and wealthy 
set, who have been attracted by the cool airs which draw through its high 
valley, and by the real magnificence of its mountains. Equinox, page 20, 
and Dorset Mountain, a little to the north, page 21, are each so fine that 
they give one more than his share of beauty. The golf links lie circuited 
by views of these and other peaks. 

The stranger in Manchester is startled by the white marble sidewalks, 
flanked by deep green. Marble is here the most abundant stone. Dorset 
Mountain, in fact, is composed of marble. Taken in conjunction with 
the town of Dorset the region about Manchester provides all sorts of aids 
and comforts for lovers of natural beauty. Dorset village, page 227, 
is strategically situated for catching all natural delights, as it lies in fair 
meadows dominated by rounded mountain crests. The Battenkill, which 
flows through Dorset, is a stream of alluring curves and cool wooded 
intervals. The clouds above the Battenkill are often glorious. The 
picture, page 15, taken at Arlington, a few miles below Manchester, gives 



INTERESTING TOWNS 85 

a vague idea of some of their forms. The sheltered portion of the river 
is shown on page 16. 

In the northern part of Vermont we find such towns as St. Albans, 
Swanton, on the edge of Quebec, and Essex. As one goes east, with 
Lake Champlain to the west, no story is needed to call attention to beauti- 
ful outlooks. Of course if one wishes to harbor in cities, Burlington 
in the north, and Rutland in the center of the state, are the points for 
excursions everywhere. 

Burlington has been called the wealthiest, the finest, and the fairest 
city of its size. The cliff drives near the city afford impressive evidence 
that one need not go to the sea for wild and bold headlands, for Cham- 
plain beats vigorously at times against massive crags, as on pages 76 and 
255, whose beetling brows of rock advance as if glorying in the eternal 
conflict. 

In the drives through Rock Park, Burlington possesses a truly remark- 
able asset of rugged ledges and splendid old forest trees. In the gorge 
of the Winooski, page 207, near Burlington, we have a fine series of 
parallel rock walls where the water has used its playthings, the small 
boulders, to grind away the barriers. In fact those who love to see water 
at work of its own free will, find in several Vermont streams the action 
going on whereby huge pot holes are still forming, the stones whirling 
about in the deep kettles of solid rock, until at last one wall approaches 
and breaks down another and the gorge is cut deeper. The geologist can 
find matter of delight here in the Winooski and the picture lover is no 
less taken up with the fantastic outlines, the seamed walls, the dashing 
waters, and the changeful color. 

Other notable places in Vermont are Middlebury and Northfield, types 
of those American villages which rejoice in making homes for smaller 
colleges with the superior advantages of intimate relations impossible in 
universities. Bellows Falls, in the township of Rockingham, surrounded 
by a country of rolling contours where hill farms are picturesque to a 
degree, is itself busy with manufacturing interests. In Rockingham 



86 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

Center we find an historical old place of worship, the " meeting house," 
two stories high, with many windows each containing forty lights. West 
of Bellows Falls is the fair village of Saxtons River with its academy, 
while to the north lie White River Junction and Hartford, the latter an 
excellent example of a town of old traditions and well-kept lawns. 

It would be superfluous to mention all the little centers of delight in 
Vermont, and even if this small book were expanded to many volumes one 
could scarcely stand at all the angles of affection from which the reader 
has already surmised the author has scanned this state. But at least two 
towns, Montpelier and Waterbury, may be coupled to illustrate the attrac- 
tions of the river banks. 

Montpelier impresses one as having an extraordinary number of solid 
edifices in proportion to its size. This may arise partly from the wealth 
that has been gathered here as the home town of insurance companies; 
partly because it is the capital of the state; partly owing to the character 
of its settlers. Montpelier's State House looks out on grounds as good 
in their way as one could wish. The Winooski is so beautiful, as soon as 
its waters are freed from the business district, as to be a type of all that 
is best in a small river. It flows as if designed expressly to elicit our 
admiration (page i68), and as one follows its north branch there are an 
equal number of graces which call for a long pause at every turn and 
every crest of the road. On page 36 is shown a pool with elms. Page 
52 gives us another pool, with forest trees and an overflowing cup; also 
a glimpse of Barre birches; and a curve of the North Branch of the 
Winooski. We show additional scenes near Montpelier on pages 64, 
203, 204, 215, 216, 248 and 291. There is a by-road from Montpelier to 
Middlesex which is beautiful in summer, but exquisite in autumn. Some 
of the views of landscape and river just mentioned are found on that road. 

The main road passing through Middlesex to Waterbury abounds in 
interest. The river at Middlesex, as shown at the top of page 80, has 
cut its way deeply through the rocks and forms here a romantic glen 
with the mountains framed in the center. It was a rough passage to the 







%^. 



MS: 




INTERESTING TOWNS 89 

bottom of the glen, but it was no small joy to get a standpoint on one of 
the jagged rocks in the midst of the boiling torrent and answer the wild 
challenge of its roar. 

One can make Waterbury a headquarters for wanderings all the way 
from Middlesex to Essex. On pages 223, 251 at the bottom, 47, 48, 
$6 and 64, are some reminiscences of such journeys. The trip to Stowe 
on the way to Mt. Mansfield, may also come in appropriately from 
Waterbury. At Stowe we meet as we enter the town a sign: " Go slow, 
or settle." The period after " settle " is almost as large as the imprint • 
of a man's fist, and was doubtless intended to suggest one. The laconic 
Vermonter has furnished the tourist a good laugh here, that is, if the 
tourist is not in a hurry! 

On our first journey to Mt. Mansfield to spend a hot Fourth of July 
we reached the foot only to find a sign on the mountain road, " Auto- 
mobiles not admitted." That rule has now been abolished, owing to the 
improvement of the road. 

West of Waterbury are beautiful farms, and such cloud effects above 
the Winooski that painters as yet have failed to transfer them to canvas. 
At Bolton there are many points of vantage to detain one, the gorge of the 
Winooski continuing to that town. A swing south to Huntington from 
the road shows the little tributary stream cutting its tortuous and pictur- 
esque course seaward. 

One finds much about Ludlow, in passing over the main range, that 
is worthy of study. On page 176 is a sketch not far west of Ludlow, and 
at Chester, a winning village, one gets, as on pages 247 and 275, fine 
specimens of snug farmhouses. Some are set near Swift River, others 
by little ponds formed by dams. We are sorry to find the word " pond," 
which was ever in the mouth of the past generation, giving way to " lake." 
It came to be thought rather countrified to say " pond." But the word 
is a good one, and ought to be revived. At the bottom of page 44 one 
sees what roadside birches can do for a farmstead setting. At Cuttings- 
ville, and near it, are remarkably good apple tree settings, as on page 124. 



90 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

When an old house, possibly abandoned, as on pages 91 and 128, is 
properly surrounded by apple and lilac bloom, one wishes nothing but 
to " move in," whatever the condition of the roof. Looking into a cozy 
homestead, across the water, on page 92, one sees what natural advan- 
tages the dweller there has used. Looking out from a cottage door, in 
the other picture on that page, what could satisfy us more than the picket 
fence, the corner of the garden, and the wealth of bloom on the old 
apple tree.? How much better than any city dwelling is such a one as 
this! 



X. CITY AND COUNTRY 

WHEN the wrongs of the world are righted it will come about, 
largely, by perception of what is truly excellent, on the part of 
the average man. For instance, the family now living precariously in 
pinched quarters in a city flat will see and know at their worth the hundred 
thousand unoccupied sites in Vermont, where one may live in the presence 
of mountains, with the grace of trees; where air and water are free; where 
the earth is bountiful to the diligent, and where every family may have 
individuality. 

The old English habit of naming a man from his acres, gave him a dis- 
tinction. He escaped that sameness which marks so many town dwellers, 
who so far as any individuality is concerned may as well be desig- 
nated by numbers, like convicts. Are these city dwellers not convicts.? 
Are they not " cabined, cribbed, confined " ? Twenty-four hours strike 
by the tyrants of transportation would bring each of these city dwellers 
to the immediate danger of starvadon. Life is most undignified when 
it possesses no reserves. Like the multitude of Rome who cried for bread 
and the circus, our metropolitan populations are fast reaching a condition 
in which the theatre and the bakery will mark the outward limit of their 
interests. 








'^■l^Jf^i^'^; ^:^:.\*.. . - .jh- 





-set. 








CITY AND COUNTRY 93 

It requires, measured in dollars, at least a hundred times as much in 
town as in country, to secure reasonable immunity from those things which 
press upon our human nature and deprive it of dignity, power, and poise. 
Cattle cars are not as subversive of decency to their occupants as are the 
subways and elevated ways of our cities to their human freight. As a 
broad principle, whenever men swarm so as to need to live and move in 
strata, one above another, it is time to get out on God's fair earth. The 
crowded populations of European slums come to America, and as a rule 
seek out an American slum as like that they have left as possible. They 
have been caught by the name America, where the name connotes nothing 
to them but plenty. They do not know that the plenty is in lands and 
room. A ghetto is always a ghetto, on whatever continent. And it is 
always a public shame. When by municipal regulation a room must con- 
tain only so many inhabitants, the law does not go deep enough. Intel- 
ligently and faithfully enforced the law would give these poor people 
a chance of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness in the country. The 
gregarious instinct, bred by the experience of countless generations dwell- 
ing in hovels under castle walls, as closely as possible, must be bred out 
from men's constitutions before they can really be men. 

The fine specimens of manhood in Europe, bred during the Roman 
day, in Germany and on the Danube, had the love of country life bred in 
the bone. An urban population can never be physically fine, unless every 
family has at least a detached homestead, an idealistic condition never 
attained in towns exceeding the village size. 

There is at present a broadly organized effort to give the children of 
the poor in cities a little breath of country air, annually. Is this a kind- 
ness? It is meant to be. But the act is not based on a wise philosophy. 
It confesses too much and too little. The propaganda to get children into 
the country for the summer, if it is a logical movement, rests on the fact 
that the country is better for the children, But if better for two weeks, 
why not for four? Why not for fourteen? Why not for fifty-two 
weeks? The children are needed in the country. They are not needed 



94 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

in the town. They can thrive and grow up to good citizenship in the 
country, a thing almost impossible in town. 

What we need is effort on the part of everybody to get where bread 
and clothing and shelter and a proper education can be commanded by 
the efforts of every family for itself. A good education is impossible in 
town. There is never room enough for the pupils and they must learn 
exclusively out of books, or dummy models of realities. 

The trend of sentiment is toward the establishment of more city parks. 
But always the park is far from where the poor live. It always will be. 
The buying up every other block in a city and making it public land would 
be a burden no city could bear. Americans are often afraid of facts. 
But the fact is that the street is the playground of the vast majority of 
city children. Modern conditions make a parent who permits a child to 
play in the street, a constructive murderer. To confine the child to the 
festeringly crowded dwelling would make the parent still more a mur- 
derer, and there you have it. There is only one answer to the problem. 
That answer is, the country for the entire year. It is those who are selfish, 
or ignorant, who huddle in crowded tenements. They love the city be- 
cause they were bred to it. They are unhappy out of a crowd. A person was 
telling the author of his cousin, who went from the East Side in New York 
to visit his relatives in the correspondingly congested district in Boston. 
Asked how the visit was enjoyed my interlocutor replied, " Oh! he didn't 
like Boston. Too lonesome." This was equivalent to saying that there 
was only one spot on earth sufficiently crowded to enable him to feel 
happy and to feel at home, for the district referred to in New York is 
supposed to be the most crowded of human habitations! 

It is the imperative duty of all governments to see that the people 
have a chance of life. It is puerile to say that the death rate among city 
children is less than that in the country. No sane person can suppose that 
the torrid, airless conditions of the brick hives of a city can be as good 
for children as the country. If the city is so good for them, why 
plead for a breath of country air, to save their lives? This reasoning runs 



CITY AND COUNTRY 97 

in a circle and is based on a narrow generalization. Character, manliness, 
independence, capacity, a habit of thought, all are encouraged by country 
life. 

Vermont is the nearest rural state to the great cities. It offers something 
for people of every condition. We remember some years since of a 
farm of a hundred acres, with comfortable house, good barns and other 
buildings, a little orchard, a sufficient meadow, pasture, and wood lot, on 
a good road, only three miles from Woodstock, being offered for five 
hundred dollars. Conditions have now changed. The value of money 
has been cut in two, and the value of farms has doubled so that three, 
perhaps four, times as many dollars might now be required to secure 
a similar independence. But so far as the capacity of every family in 
America to secure a dignified independence is concerned, it is being demon- 
strated every day that the thing is possible, and possible without enduring 
any conditions to reach the desired estate, which are not far less onerous 
than are endured every day by the poor in cities. 

The funds now expended to take children back to town should be ex- 
pended in getting their parents settled in the country. No man has a 
right to live in a city who cannot there secure a fair chance for his children. 
That is a good American proposition, and tested by it and following on 
it there would be the greatest exodus in human history. 

At present the immigrant, if he intends going onto the land, is often 
hustled out to the barren side of the prairie states beyond the sufficient 
rain belt. Dumped on a desert, the immigrant is entirely dependent on 
the railway to bring him, from long distances, at great prices, timber for 
a shelter. The consequence is the immigrant digs into the ground and 
becomes a cave man, living in a sod house, nay, worse than a cave man, for 
he had solid walls, impregnable against the tempest. The immigrant, who 
going into the west must be a capitalist, must buy every necessity of human 
life from a distance. Or if he purchases the fine acres of Iowa or Illinois 
he will find their price ten times as much as in Vermont. And in the 
West he will live without that variety which gives life its zest — without 



98 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

hills, without stone for his roads, without the charm and wealth of shade 
trees or forest. 

It has been for long a jest to play upon the hardships of those who live 
on rocky acres. Men, however, go to Florida and actually blast by dyna- 
mite a hole in the stone where they may plant a grapefruit! Is it neces- 
sary for any Vermont farmer to blast a hole for an apple tree? Besides, 
as the finest, and ultimately the only valuable crop is men, Vermont raises 
more men to the square mile, who count in the energy and the worth of 
the state, than a whole county in Florida. However well men may start 
in the tropics or semi-tropics, the second generation is of small account, 
if they belong to the northern European races. 

But is Vermont stony? There are many thousands of acres, in Ver- 
mont, without stone enough to build a wall around them. As the hill 
farms go there is almost always enough land free from stones to make 
a well balanced farm. The stony part left to pasture and forest is all 
the better for its stones. An acre of good land, near American villages 
ruled by American traditions, is worth a township in parts of America better 
unnamed. 

The plain fact is, the finest parts of America for homes, for rearing 
men have been overlooked in the senseless rush to the West, fostered by 
paid immigration bureaus. New England, from the farmer's standpoint, 
or from the outlook of the man who thinks of character and culture, is 
the least appreciated part of America. 

In making the bald statement that a good education can be obtained 
only in the country, we use the term education in the broadest sense. 

The greatest American name of our day, Roosevelt, may be thought 
to disprove our statement. But the fact that he was born in New York 
City, when considered in relation to his education, only emphasizes our 
statement. For the frail child was for long periods taken to the country 
place on Long Island, and his later years on the plains not only gave him 
strength, but an insight into practical aflFairs and a knowledge and love 
of nature. Thus the greatest figure in recent history was an outdoor man. 




JbM^. 




CITY AND COUNTRY lOi 

If the score of successful city men is tallied, it will appear that great 
numbers — we believe a good majority — were country bred. Our urban 
life is either hectic or narrow or debilitating. Only strong men can 
stand it, and the proportion of those that go under in the nervous strain 
is large. A constant influx of country life is required. It is common to 
point to the " unsuccessful " rural citizen. Even from the standpoint of 
financial success, the country man fails less often than the city man, whose 
business ventures, as recorded by financial rating, fail nine times out of 
ten. 

New York, or at least the cities, are regarded as the literary centers. 
But while literary workers sometimes live in towns, we often find they 
were born in the country. In the eighteenth century there were no 
cities, in the modern sense. In the nineteenth century, the Cambridge 
authors, like Lowell and Longfellow, lived on broad, ample grounds, 
really in the country though in town. Cooper lived in the country. So 
for the most part did Irving. Bryant's love for the country is well known, 
and he was not only born in the remote Berkshire hills, but hastened back 
to them as soon and for as long periods as possible. The great names 
of Concord alsc> corroborate the truth that country life is loved by literary 
people. 

An education, at least in its primary stages, in the country, gives an 
understanding of things, whereas in the city it gives one mostly a knowl- 
edge of books. For many studies, like botany, zoology, and geology 
country life is absolutely required for any proficiency. The overweening 
conceit of the city man, which appeared up to a recent date in the funny 
columns and comic illustrations, has changed of late to a better apprecia- 
tion of the fact that the country man knows how to do more kinds of work 
than his city brother. A man in town learns to do one thing. The 
farmer learns to do many. He must be a good merchant, as his success 
depends entirely upon good buying and selling. Inevitably, if he has 
any native ability he sharpens his wits by the process of disposing of his 
produce. The decision as to what he shall plant, what stock he shall 



102 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

keep, and when to dispose of it makes him, at least in these matters, a stu- 
dent of men and things. It is true he may go to bed early, but he has 
done hours of work before the city man rises, and has this advantage, that 
he has seen the world at the most beautiful hours of the day. 

Politically he has learned much, also. The town meeting, concerning 
which historians have said so much, is the means of developing political 
aptitude in the farmer, who understands and follows up the phases of 
government in the little. It is getting to be known that bad federal 
government springs out of bad local government. People who conduct 
their local politics well, are those most worthy to conduct larger affairs. 

But there is a primeval, deep-seated reason for the ownership of land. 
It establishes the possessor as the holder from the Almighty of a section 
of His earth. The ownership of land has ever been the basis of nobility, 
as recognized by sovereigns. It is only of late that the distiller and his 
ilk have been elevated to the peerage. Even now in England the ac- 
quirement of a landed estate is the first requisite to give dignity to a 
title. And when all else has been said, at least everybody depends on the 
farmer. He holds the situation in his hands, as appears in Russia, 
where it is found he will not cultivate land if the produce is to be ravished 
away. 

The reader should not infer, however, that the author imagines no good 
can come out of the city. The city is a necessary evil, and the master 
mind in banking, trade, and government is compelled to work from the 
city as a center. But more and more that master mind requires the tonic 
of country air, and the rugged independence fostered by country life. 
The Saviour of mankind loved to pass often through the country and con- 
sider the lilies. He loved the mountains, the waters, and all growing 
things; he studied the sky and the sea. Particularly in the last work 
of his life one notices that he went from Jerusalem every night to the 
little village of Bethany. One of the finest poems ever written is 
Lanier's " Into the woods my Master went." It is worthy of being en- 
grossed in the large, to hang on the walls of every farmer's home. It 



THE BEAUTY OF A CORNFIELD 105 

shows very sympathetically the soothing and tender influences of country 
quiet. 

We would like to leave this aspect of our subject with the reflection 
that God made the country and enjoys it Himself, and that any proper 
religion suggests a study of and a joy in what is made beautiful for us. 
All our thoughts should be shot through with reverence at the view of a 
sunset. We cannot refrain from narrating a recent experience. Return- 
ing one day from town we saw in the west a thousand mottled clouds. 
They began to extend north and south and to rise toward the zenith. 
Their color was delicate rather than gaudy. They rose steadily, sym- 
metrically, until they covered a third of the heavens. Simultaneously 
my companion and I exclaimed: "An Archangel's wings! " It was all 
so noble to see, so soothing, so inspiring. Certainly life seems finer in 
the country whether it is so or not. Scarcely has there been a time 
when it has not appealed to the poets, from that unnamed one who told 
of man in his first garden, to the latest contributor in the local paper. 

The day's work is over. The waving grain grows still. The hills take 
on a darker purple. The sky grows nearer. The call of the whip- 
poor-will comes from the woodland to the leeward. A delicate soft air 
envelops all. An apple, well ripened, falls in the home orchard. The 
flash of a swallow noiselessly sweeps past in the early gloaming. The 
world is seeking to forget strife and to listen reverently. " When twi- 
light lets her curtain down and pins it with a star," we see in the country 
a perfect world. 



XI. THE BEAUTY OF A CORNFIELD 

VERMONT has an admirable soil for corn, and no finer feature of its 
summer landscape could appeal to us than a cornfield, well kept. As 
soon as its waving blades cover the ground in the latter part of July, 
the successive beauties of the corn begin to entrance us. The pollen stalk 



io6 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

raises its multiple cross and sheds its golden dust; the silken tassel hangs 
daintily from the ear tip; the luscious green envelope, leaf after leaf, 
folds in the sweet grains. As the season advances, and we see corn in the 
shock, with the golden squash or pumpkins between the rows, there is a 
new appeal, a changed beauty. England without this glory of growing 
corn, lacks much in inspiration for her poets and painters. We await 
in America those who no doubt will sing with finer rapture than their 
predecessors the joy of the cornfield. 

No food, in a growing state, could be more fraught with beauty, poetry, 
and the sense of plenty than the corn. The hearts of the Pilgrim Fathers 
were lightened when first they heard the rustling corn and sensed their 
relief from want. From the time when the bobolink, bubbling over with 
full-throated melody, accompanies the farmer's boy in the planting of the 
corn, to the gathering in, on the great barn floor, of the mellow harvest, 
the corn supplies us with a sequence of imaginative suggestions. In every 
stage and aspect it is a delight. A stroll among its tall rows soothes 
our nerves better than the poppy, and seeing it in generous autumn we 
have a striking symbol of natural wealth and of the joyous response of 
the earth to her children. Its long braids of seed ears, hanging on the 
gable of the barn, as on page 283, are at once a decoration and a prophecy. 

Why have not painters used more often the motive of a cluster of corn 
ears? In both their ripened and their green state they are beautiful. 
The occasional glimpse of white kernels, where the green husk has par- 
tially uncovered them, is not surpassed by anything in nature. 

Students of corn say that it has been brought to its present state from 
a diminutive nubbin ear. However that may be, we know that it re- 
sponds when we help it in an effort to reach an ideal perfection. By the 
selection of the plump grains, and by discarding the undeveloped tip 
grains, much has been done to improve the fullness and weight of the 
corn ear. Furthermore, by recent adoption of green corn silage the 
growing of corn has been much increased. As America's indigenous con- 
tribution to the world's food store, corn has a patriotic appeal and should 
be a state symbol. 



THE MOUNTAIN TRAILS 109 

XII. THE MOUNTAIN TRAILS 

'T^HERE is an association in Vermont of those who love to thread the 
-■- mountain trails. When, in this age of improved transportation, we 
are in danger of forgetting how to walk, the mountain climber has a dis- 
tinct mission to get us on our own legs again. There is doubtless a seclu- 
sion and an uplift in standing amidst the vast boulders of the glen or on 
the tremendous unbroken ledges of the upper slopes and gazing on the 
world below. A little of the eagle in us all would do no harm, unless we 
press the figure too far, for the eagle is not on the height to enjoy the 
scenery. 

A good deal has been done in Vermont to make a tramp feasible to 
the loftier or more beautiful summits. The enjoyment is no less be- 
cause of the moderate elevation as contrasted with the higher White 
Mountains or the fearsome white slopes of the Alps. One may take 
along a guide, or adventure alone, and by the carrying of a modest-sized 
pack, make camp when night comes. A camera should as often as possible 
be a part of the luggage. Clouds are always fine when seen from the 
mountains, though to be in a cloud is not so comfortable, and in Vermont 
one does not often get above them. 

It is too much to hope from our human nature that the average person 
will become fond of mountain climbing. That is one of the joys reserved 
for the discriminating few. But in time we shall doubtless get some- 
what away from the notion that scooting along the main road is seeing the 
country. He who merely passes through takes nothing good away with 
him. The motorist wants to move on. Nature shows her fairest phases 
to the lover who is not in a hurry. A gentleman expressed one day to 
the author his feeling that Vermont must be dull. No, the State is not 
dull J it is the people who fail to see it correctly. The best aspects of 
beauty are too good to be observable to many. Crashing brass bands 
appeal to some 5 the distant faint harmonies of the organ to others. The 



no VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

world is many sided. He who looks carefully will see and enjoy. It is 
not necessary to throw a flash light from a war ship into his eyes. Let 
those go their way to whom the best does not appeal. Some tread on liliesj 
others worship God in them; some love the roar; others the stillness. 
We get what we want. 

The mountaineer discovers some surprising features in Vermont. At 
the summit of the Bellows Falls— Rutland road where one crosses the 
mountain, there is a good farm with its orchard (page lOo). There are 
villages above 2000 feet, and some of them are most beautiful. Killington 
Peak is more pointed and striking than most Vermont mountains, yet high 
on its sides the grass fields grow, and higher still the trees persist. Except 
on the very summits of a few peaks there is no timber line. 

The most surprising vision from the uplands is the encroaching tree 
growth on the hill farms. One ceases to fear the destruction of forests 
if he studies a mountain region. The forests may be destroyed here and 
there, but they edge out again and cover the land. Districts where once 
was a teeming farm population are sometimes found now with inhabited 
dwellings few and far between; for even in Vermont, though perhaps less 
there than elsewhere, farms have been abandoned. This natural re- 
forestation of the land is not altogether a misfortune, as the mountain 
climber may detect. Timber being so necessary it is well that it asserts its 
right to grow in these remote regions. In places, as in one mountain town, 
where there are not enough men to officer a town meeting, it is good 
economy to let the trees have possession. 



XIII. THE MARBLE HILLS 

WE have mentioned the great marble reserves about Manchester. On 
the other side of the state, at Proctor and elsewhere, the marble 
mountains more largely yield their store. We shall never forget visiting a 
quarry, more properly a mine, of pure white marble. Its vast dome was 



THE GRANITE MOUNTAINS 113 

unsupported except by the marble arch left in quarrying beneath. It is 
an odd and suggestive turn in human affairs that the finest quarries of 
Italy are owned by Vermont men, who, because of their holdings at home 
and abroad, can now give one the best in the world of whatever is wanted 
in marble. It is, however, a still more marked circumstance that marble 
is never used in domestic architecture in the state. The early develop- 
ment of America called for wooden houses, as wood was the material 
waiting for use. And as time went on there grew up a popular preju- 
dice against stone and brick on account of the dampness of dwellings con- 
structed of them. Modern methods, however, have overcome this 
fault, and we may hope that the next great physical development of 
America will be toward permanence and taste in the buildings in which 
men live. The Vermonter is rich in clays, ledge-washed stone, granite, 
and marble. No part of the world is better supplied with the materials 
for a beautiful and solid architecture. 



XIV. THE GRANITE MOUNTAINS 

A S Vermont is foremost in American states with its marble, so one of 
"^ ^ its cities, Barre, claims to be the world's most important granite 
center. There is an eternity about granite which appeals, especially 
among these hills. Granite bears the shock of all climates and suggests a 
reposeful strength impossible in any other building material. Here and 
there in Vermont granite dwellings have been erected from irregularly 
shaped stones — all the more beautiful because not hewn to formal 
courses. We have even seen lately some stone silos, indicating that 
thinking men will at last adapt themselves to their environment. 



114 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

XV. FOR GOD AND NATIVE LAND 

ON page 12 is the church at Bennington, and beyond it is the monu- 
ment of great and deserved name. The church has a beautiful 
lantern and is one of the oldest in the State. Its interior is also very 
good. The edifice, standing as it does so near the monument, suggests 
the intimate connection in early days between Church and State. The 
white spires of Vermont's villages stand beautifully outlined against 
the green hills. These meeting-houses, for that was their name, often 
provided for the town meeting and other public gatherings. It meant 
that our fathers felt no sense of incongruity in settling their affairs of 
state in the same spot where their religion was taught. It was a more 
rational idea than that which later crept in, that the house of God is 
desecrated by political concerns. Our fathers began to govern after they 
had prayed. Their surroundings made their manner dignified. It re- 
mained for a more superficial generation to count political things extrane- 
ous to religion. Even the Romans wedded their government with their 
religion, and in their earlier development there was no distinction be- 
tween serving the gods and serving the state. 



XVI. THE FUTURE OF THE RURAL EAST 

ONE can tell at a glance whether a farm is real, in the sense of 
being a self-sustaining enterprise, or whether it is owned by a 
summer resident. Increasingly our Eastern farms are going into the 
hands of those who play with them rather than live by them. This is 
well for the neighboring farmer in that it furnishes him with lucrative 
odd jobs, for we admit that the city buyer does not stint funds in the 
development of his farming hobby, so that it has been wittily said that 
the difference between an agriculturist and a farmer is, that the one 



THE FUTURE OF THE RURAL EAST 117 

puts his money into the land while the other takes his money out. But 
in the broadest sense, it is a misfortune for any region when its dominant 
owners do not live on the sod and by it. A sturdier independence is de- 
veloped by the farmer who must do things for himself instead of being 
the hired man of an absentee landlord. Some striking instances of this 
independence have come under the author's attention. In one case the 
use of a fine farm was offered free to any one who would pay the taxes. 
There were no takers. Yet some of those who declined to work free acres 
were ready to buy them and work them also. An occasional city owner may 
do no harm. He may stimulate the breeding of fine stock, or in some 
manner set the pace in a department of farm development. Vermont 
has, however, always stood for its own home-owned acreage. Mr. 
Vail, whose action is possibly a precursor of that of others, mostly spent 
his week-ends in Northern Vermont, and has presented to the State his 
broad lands as the nucleus of an agricultural school. He did much for 
Vermont. But the average farmer, whose main interests are in his land, 
will do more, in the long run, than the amateur farmer. We fear the 
rural East will gradually be bought up by city wealth. Farm land 
within a hundred miles of a great city is already marked out to be ex- 
ploited by city capital. We shall have, within two generations, a great 
Eastern region, such as the district within thirty miles of Boston now is, 
either given up to country " estates " or turned to intensive market garden- 
ing. All the fine sites will at length be acquired, and the physical develop- 
ment of the East will go apace. But whether the character of the new 
population will be equal to the better old stock will depend on the general 
moral trend of the age before us. 

The English tendency just now is toward the breaking up of large 
estates. We may hope the American spirit will move in the same 
direction. Very large farms are still rare. May they continue rare. 



ii8 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

XVII. QUAINT AND BEAUTIFUL THINGS IN 

VERMONT 

THERE is an amazingly solid bar-post at the top outside corner 
of page 132. It is as if the farmer said to himself, like his Yankee 
prototype, " It should be so built that it couldn't break down. " He 
had no doubt been bothered all his days by decaying or tottering posts. 
So he spent a great labor in cutting out the holes in this massive stone. 
It will be his monument long after the stone placed over him in the ceme- 
tery has fallen. 

On the same page, at the bottom inside corner, is a long, sheltered ap- 
proach to a fine homestead in Shelburne. It is merely a sod walk, but 
the eflFect as one looks deeply in, is good, and the fine evergreens are a 
sure protection against the winter storms. On the other side the 
house looks out on a fine panorama of mountains, Mansfield and Camel's 
Hump among them. 

The birch drive on the same page is the beautiful approach to the 
Robert Lincoln place in Manchester. The apple orchard is in Sherburne, 
the town where the fine acres of the Webb place are situated. 

" Village Spires," page 135, is one of the best examples of the Vermont 
village as seen across the White River in Royalton. The stream along 
here teems with beauty. 

The " Old Red School House " appears on page 139. It is on the so- 
called Sandwich Drive, west of Manchester. 

" Paradise Valley " on the same page is a dear little river scene, with 
the farmhouse opposite, on the Montpelier— Middlesex road. 

At the side, down page 140, where two ladies in similar garb greet us, 
the scene is in Manchester. Opposite is the " Day in June," the back- 
ground being the fine old Governor Smith house in Vergennes. The lady 
wears one of the wedding gowns of an earlier generation of residents. 
The family, whose seat is now St. Albans, still continues a strong social 
force in the state. 



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QUAINT AND BEAUTIFUL THINGS IN VERMONT 121 

" Wilburton Slopes," a sheep pasture at Manchester, on page 172, repre- 
sents what is being done in sheep raising by a gentleman who is developing 
an ideal farm, where there are pictures in every field. 

Those who love mountains will be won by " Ascutney Meadows " at 
the top of page 195. There had been a very heavy rain, which gave 
us a chance, before the water drained from the meadows, to secure this 
view of Ascutney, a satisfactory picture of which is difficult to obtain. 
Situated near Windsor and the Cornish colony, and on the way to Wood- 
stock, Ascutney has many faithful lovers. It is the dominant peak of the 
region, and well deserves all the affection it has gained. 

In "A Fairlee Shore," page 199, we have the water-side birch cluster 
in perfection. Fairlee and Thetford in their names, their location (heads 
in the hills and feet laved by the Connecticut), and their people, are 
among the most delightful country towns in America. Almost too small 
in population to be called villages, too rich in fair countrysides to allow 
us to escape their thrall, every memory of them draws us back to their 
welcoming hills. 

On page 200 we look up the fair stretch of the Connecticut at Thetford, 
and at the bottom of the same page is a delightful road in the same town. 

The " Faithful Oxen," on page 208, is the only picture in this book 
which the author did not make. This genial pair, friends of men, had 
been so long well-trained companions, that they could be driven without 
a yoke. The kind gentleman who supplied this picture is lost to the 
author's ken, and his name is lost, but he must have been a lover of 
animals and must have enjoyed his work. In "Better than Mowing," 
page 220, we have a man who, tempted by the leaping trout, has stuck 
his scythe snath in the soft earth and yielded to the lure of the brook, 
Dorset being in the background. 



122 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

XVIII. VERMONT IN WINTER 

T T 7E have never been able to interest the public in winter pictures. 
^ ^ This is inexplicable, for there is beauty in the snow, and there 
has come to be a fad for winter sports. Vermont hotels in some cases 
cater to the love for sleighing, skiing, snowshoeing, and skating. But 
it is no proof that one loves the winter because he follows this fad. 
There is, however, inherent in manly natures, a love of battling the storm, 
and among such natures we may presume there are an elect few who love 
winter for its own sake. 

The curling snow-fingers that depend from the picket fences, the 
fantastic shapes assumed by the blankets of snow on roofs, the evergreens 
in their striking contrast, green against the white, are all objects fit to 
claim our attention. The shapes of large bodies of snow are also arresting. 
Waves of snow, from the crests of which the spindrift flies, resemble 
sea-waves with their flying spray. We see fine sand under the influence 
of the wind assuming the same ribbed forms and wavy surfaces as the 
snow fields. In places, also, the snow seems to copy the curdled cloud 
forms in sky. This various beauty of the snow lies all over the country- 
side, but in Vermont the hills have trebled its charm. 

Leaving the beauty of snow in the large, the snowflakes of which it is 
composed are worthy of thoughtful study. They have recently been 
investigated with great care and somewhat surprising results. Some 
patient and enthusiastic student has photographed, under the microscope, 
many thousand snowflakes. Among them all he found no two alike, yet 
found not one without a six-sided symmetrical crystallization. These 
snowflakes, magnified, may furnish endless beautiful designs for em- 
broidery, inlay, and various other forms of decoration. 

The variety of forms of snowflakes is nothing short of a marvel. 
It would be perhaps a mad reach of imagination to suggest that there are 
no snowflakes that duplicate one another in their crystal forms. But if in 
several thousand there are no duplicates, mathematical law would deduce 



THE MAPLE ORCHARD 125 

that there are at least billions of regular crystal patterns! When we 
notice the human poverty of mind that builds rows of houses all alike, 
we are humbled by the infinite capacity for variety inherent in nature. 

Among these numberless snowflake forms there is not one that is not 
beautiful. Nature in this respect never fails. The frost draftsman is 
always artistic, always fresh, always wonderful. Many of the forms 
would make exquisite lace patterns, so intricate in detail that one would 
linger long in admiration. 

And if nature has given us so many varied forms grouped about a 
six-sided, crowded crystal, what can she do if she uses all the possibilities 
in the mathematical mystery box? In the summer we have seen so much 
of nature's versatility that we think less of it than we should. But 
that winter, the time when we have been accustomed to think of the 
world as asleep, has a greater variety than summer of virile forms to 
feed the imagination, is a distinct surprise. 



XIX. THE MAPLE ORCHARD 

WE have said somewhere in this book that the typical Vermont 
farm has its maple orchard. And the farmer cannot make too 
much of this grove of trees. Their broad branches tell the passer-by that 
his land is good, and when sugaring time comes his income from their 
sap proves in a financial way the value of the trees to his farm. 

The making of maple sugar has come to be a symbol of Vermont life. 
As the syrup has its peculiar delicious flavor, so the production of it has 
given flavor to all recollections of the state that produces it. But in 
reality sugaring occupies a larger place in sentiment than in fact. Never- 
theless, the Vermonter naturally cherishes the tendency of the newspapers 
to illustrate and write of the sugaring season. 

There is much that is really picturesque in the work of the sugar 
orchard. The gathering of the syrup, the watching it boil, the uncertain 



126 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

lights at night, the waiting human figures, all give interest. Sometimes 
animals, too, play a part. The yoiies of beautiful oxen we are showing 
in the stream, were also used in March to draw the sap to the sugar house 
to which previously they had drawn the rough wood used for boiling 
the sap. 

But the labor of making sugar is very severe, and continues night and 
day, so that its poetry and picturesqueness are not felt so much by those 
who do the work as by those who look on. To the children, however, the 
farm sugaring time is the delight of the year. 



XX. WAITING FOR THE "AUTO" TO PASS 

ON page 236 the farmer, more than eighty years old, has drawn off 
to one side, waiting for the " auto " to pass. The old and the new 
generations have clashed very sharply in our age. The patient oxen, long 
the willing helpers of the farmer, useful all their lives and useful in 
their deaths, must now stand one side. It is the law of change. The 
man before us was the husband of the woman hand-carding wool, on 
page 244. She, too, was spinning at an age above eighty years. 

To the casual thought it might be regarded as a pity for these old 
people to toil. The truth is they were very well-to-do, with large sums 
of money laid away, and they worked because thus they were happier. 
It is only the sick or the vacant minded who deem it an advantage to lay 
down the tasks of life and enter homes for the aged. 

Perhaps the " auto " will pass for good. The demand for fuel in all 
forms is beginning to sharpen until we may all take to the woods and 
chop our own and let the " auto " go. The sources of coal and oil supply 
have only to become a little less, and civilization's wheel will take another 
turnj the rural life will be a necessity, and oxen will come back. 



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FOREST THOUGHTS 129 

XXI. SOME COUNTRY BEAUTIES 

OOME one has said that the young of every animal is playful and 
^^ alluring. With reservations this is correct. The lamb when very little 
is nearly the most awkward shape in nature, but in a few weeks after 
birth this lamb becomes the darling of the children, the delight of every 
one, and the despair of artists. As for us, we could never escape the lure 
in the eyes of calves, when, as on page 243, they have begun " to take 
notice." Always eager, like children, for a luncheon, their " mealy 
noses " curled as they follow one, always capering in the j oy of young life, 
they tend to rejuvenate anyone who comes near them. And who ever 
saw tiny white pigs without thinking of a roll of satin? Chickens are of 
course the adoration of children. A speckled hen, having stolen her nest, 
came out strutting one morning, every feather standing out, and leading 
her brood of twenty-two fluflFy babies! 

Such memories color child life and redeem it from dullness. How 
much superior are these pets to the teddy bears of the starved child imagi- 
nation of cities! 



XXII. FOREST THOUGHTS 

ONE might suppose, since so much is said of the delights and the 
beauty of the forest, that the forest would be chosen as man's abode, 
at least in some climates. But we believe that the dwelling of the 
pygmies in the African forests is the solitary instance of human beings 
choosing to live among trees. 

Forests are delightful to visit, but not good to dwell in. Wherever 
forests stand they invariably mean rainfall j hence dampness. It follows 
that there are periods of the year when a dwelling in a forest would be 
very detrimental to health. In the working out of living conditions in the 
country, the dwelling was at first placed in a small clearing which grew 



130 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

larger every year. The settler was oppressed by trees. He thought of 
them as something to get rid of, like weeds. He burned them in masses. 
The thought of shade trees came later. It is only as we of the East 
find the primeval forest almost annihilated that we come to prize it and 
love its great boles as they appear in Danville (page 268). 

There is a strange influence that comes over the human spirit in the 
dense forest. It is something different from the influence of the ocean 
and the mountains. It is different, distinctly, from any other human 
experience. 

Bryant has said much to us of this and analogous subjects. The silences 
of the forest, unbroken except for the soft sighing of the tree tops, is 
the effect most marked. One would suppose the silence conducive to pro- 
found . thought, but most persons in such solitudes are overwhelmed 
by the dignity and strength of the great trees and naturally find them- 
selves absorbed in individual growths rather than in what a forest may 
suggest to the philosopher. Trees are so filling to the eye, the nostrils, 
and so obvious to the touch that the lessons of the forest are lost in the 
forest itself. 

But the shady drives are beautiful and are sought out by all visitors 
to the country. Such drives are those in Colchester, page 224; about 
Lake Willoughby, page 23 ij along the West Branch of the Deerfield, 
on pages 204, 219, 2235 or in Thetford, page 200, and along many 
other roads here illustrated. In fact, the shady spots are, in a hot day, 
the ones chiefly remembered. They form the most obvious features of 
country life to the casual guest. In these shady drives the country may 
be said to be on parade. The " Golden Forest," page 159^ "A IMarlboro 
Wood," page 135} a pass in Wallingford, page 127; a grassy drive among 
the birches at the Bluffs, near Newport, page 116; the farm road heading 
page 47, in the region of Tunbridge; and the pass of Granville Notch 
at the bottom of the same page, are instances in point. 

The forest is pleasing not alone from the trees still growing, but also 
from those that are crumbling back to earth, from which new trees arise. 




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FOREST THOUGHTS 133 

Of course the geologist explains how the slow process went forward, of 
little trees getting a foothold, and the passing of ages creating wood 
mold. We still see the work going on, particularly as where, in the 
higher regions, so many roots are reaching down between rocks to obtain 
their scant supply of tree food. We never fail to be astonished when 
in winter we observe how bare of earth are some mountain sides, that are 
so completely covered with trees that in summer we see no trace of the 
rocks beneath the foliage. We are strikingly reminded that the trees 
really live largely on air. 

Trees, of course, are always the principal objects of beauty in the usual 
landscape. Their infinite variety of leaf and of habit of growth, their 
terrible fight for existence in the storm — a fight which, when the tree is 
victorious, only makes it root itself more broadly — these are aspects that 
cannot but claim our interest. 

Living things are supposed to be more lovable than inert matter, but 
there are those who love trees so well that the fall of a tree is a calamity. 
I have seen a sensible, but sensitive woman, burst into tears as one of 
the six-hundred-year-old patriarchs of a Washington forest was felled. 
A great tree is a landmark for miles around, and in England as well as 
America, a huge oak got itself into political history. The writer of 
" Woodman, spare that tree," struck a chord to which most hearts echoed. 
Indeed, one would feel shame were it not so. How much a certain tree, 
near a farmhouse, means to a farmer's wife if she still lives on the farm 
of her childhood! It was her shelter, when first she crawled on the grass, 
and it will droop its branches over her dust when she is carried from her 
home on the last journey. 

The old elm sometimes supplied a crotch through which the well 
sweep worked. The tree was the first object distantly seen, as one re- 
turned over the hills after an absence from home. Its little unfolding 
leaf marked the time for corn planting. In the long summer days it 
supplied the much loved shade, when the housewife in the afternoon could 
sit at her work beneath it. And when its leaves fell and gathered into 



134 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

hollows, her laughing children waded and rolled in the soft mass. Some- 
times the oriole had her hanging nest above, sometimes the squirrels 
chased one another across the limbs, and always, in every phase through 
the livelong year, the tree had its message and supplied some gift or 
grace to the cottage home. There are today leaders of the nation who 
would prefer an hour under the old tree, to any other experience now 
possible to them. The author remembers a gentleman, said to be the 
most successful in business and the noblest in spirit in his home state. He 
came to our homestead and wandered about till he reached the back porch 
beside the well and the great elm, and said, " Here is the spot where I 
want to sit for two hours! " We are all, happily, so human, and are all 
nearer to human fellowship when under a tree than elsewhere! 



XXIII. WILD FLOWERS OF VERMONT 

VERMONT is as rich in wild flowers as any other New England 
state, and contains the varieties commonly found in our northern 
climates. We write of flowers, not as a botanist, however, but as a mere 
crude layman, who, seeing flowers In passing, admires them, but has made 
no scientific study of habitat and forms. 

Early in the year the most noticeable flower in Vermont, as elsewhere, 
is the dandelion. It grows most happily near where the human foot treads. 
It loves to skirt the roadside to be sure we see it when we go by. For 
it is not a retiring blossom, but as bold as its namesake. It fills some fields 
with color to the exclusion of almost everything else. Under a blooming 
apple bough a carpet of dandelions is a vision worth a far journey. One 
thinks amazedly of the great fields of cultivated dandelions while untold 
millions of the wild ones go to waste. 

The dandelion has the advantage of most flowers in that when it has 
gone to seed it has a delicate beauty, exceeding, as some think, its earlier 
splendor. It is as if it repented of its flamboyance, and in its old age 



•*w^. 




WILD FLOWERS OF VERMONT 137 

grew spiritual and ready to fly away. Certainly one who should see only 
its latest development would never suspect that this feathery, gossamer 
globe, which vanishes at a puflF, had begun its career as the sturdiest and 
least sensitive blossom imaginable. A touch of dandelion was used in the 
home-brewed wine of long ago. Its flavor was as delicate to the taste 
as the spirituelle seeds to the eye. 

As one passes along the highway the buttercup is next to the dandelion in 
color and frequency, perhaps. If weeds are flowers out of place, then 
there are plenty of such weeds in Vermont. We used to be assured that 
the buttercup gave the color to the butter, but as a matter of fact the 
cow avoids buttercups. She is a somewhat dainty feeder. We were 
also told that if holding a buttercup under the chin produced a yellow 
reflection it was proof that one liked butter! How old, we wonder, does 
a child need to be to detect the fallacies presented to his young mind? 
Anyhow, the child enjoys the fallacy while it lasts. 

Growing with the buttercup one notices the daisy, that beautiful pest 
of the farmer. Some inventive person should find a use for the daisy j 
for, such is human nature, after a traveler has seen a few millions of them, 
he seems to lose interest in them. Yet they tell fortunes, as ever, and, 
as truly as the buttercup, can reveal our taste. The great yellow oxeye 
forms a fine foil for the white daisy. And as both, growing together, 
mingle in the grass, they are fair rivals of the poppy fields of California. 

Red clover is the sweetest, the most homelike, and the most beautiful 
and useful of all flowers of the field. The bees revel in it and fertilize it 5 
the cows find it delicious. It is good for the land, good in the barn, 
and good to the eye. The white clover appears more on neglected land, 
or on stretches used for grazing. But clover must be coaxed. It cannot 
hold its own unaided against the buttercup and daisy. 

The occasional fields of buckwheat make a pretty showing. Their 
delicate white blossoms send forth an agreeable odor, and the humming 
of the bees at work among them gives promise of honey and delectable 
cakes later on. A field of buckwheat, also, by the close growing and shade 



138 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

of its plants, kills out weeds and gives the farmer a clear ground for 
his next year's planting. 

The pasture flowers are not at all unworthy of our glances. The milk- 
weed, like the dandelion, not only gives joy to the eye but also to the 
palate. And the same is true of the wild mustard, which is perfection 
as "greens." Wild mustard in an oat field, however, is no such joy, 
as the writer once learned to his cost, when an oat harvest became so 
choked and dominated by the plant as to be a total loss. Another pasture 
plant that cannot be passed by is the mullein. It dots the barren fields 
and grows by the old stone walls as tall and stately as the hollyhock. 
The " velvet plant " the English call it, and cultivate it among the choice 
things in their gardens, where growing in the middle of a bed its gives 
symmetry to its surroundings. 

About the pools and along the brooks the iris is usually very abundant. 
It is allied to the blue flag, though " The Nomad," in his delightful ex- 
cursions in literature and among flowers, states that the iris and the flag 
are distinct species. However that may be, this flower, sometimes called 
" The poor-man's orchid," has a grace and beauty very attractive. The 
pickerel weed also decorates the wet margins, and the arrow-head lifts its 
beautiful wax-like white blossom among the wet grasses. Growing with 
great luxuriance by the water's edge and by damp meadows we find the 
elderberry bush, most beautiful when its white clusters hang like misty 
clouds among its green, most beautiful when its clusters of dark, juicy fruit 
bend earthward. Occasionally the sweet, white water-lily appears on still 
waters. The yellow cow-lily, despised by mortals but loved by insects, is 
more abundant. As the season advances the joe-pye weed masses its rich 
colored blooms by many a stream, while the orange-yellow jewel-weed 
and the cardinal flower look on. 

In August Queen Anne's lace — " lady's lace," in local nomenclature — 
riots with blue chicory and the many varieties of goldenrod where earlier 
the wild blackberry made patches of white. Asters of many sizes and 
colors grow everywhere, as well as beautiful grasses which it would be too 



HOW DAIRYING BEAUTIFIES THE COUNTRYSIDE 141 

long and intricate a task to mention in detail. We only say that they are 
almost as attractive as the trees that grow above them. 

Some of the daintiest and most beautiful flowers, however, do not come 
to quick notice but are often stumbled upon when looking for something 
else. One day we paused by a sharp cliff, directly bordering the road. 
While engaged in making pictures we observed a fluttering of wings. 
Under a little jutting shelf of rock, about shoulder high, was a swallow's 
nest attached to the stones, and a few inches away a delicate harebell grew. 

We do not doubt there are thousands of beautiful flowers of which we 
have never dreamed, as well as thousands of beauties of other kinds. 
Those who seek find. We sit humbly at the feet of every patient observer 
and wait for words of truth. He who reveals a new beauty opens the book 
of creation a little wider and makes life richer and fuller. 



XXIV. HOW DAIRYING BEAUTIFIES THE 
COUNTRYSIDE 

TT is a mistake to imagine that an untouched solitude is more pleasing 
^ than a region where the hand of man has tried to lead nature. A path 
is an additional beauty in a forest glade, and a field of corn on a mountain 
side gives an added attraction to the view of the mountain. The interest 
is enhanced by some hint of humanity. 

No country given up to dairying — and Vermont is very largely en- 
gaged in this department of farm industry — can be otherwise than beauti- 
ful. For the success of his herd, the dairyman is obliged to do those things 
on the farm which translate the humdrum features of the landscape into 
something more interesting. Farms inevitably grow richer in soil wherever 
dairying is carried on, and as a consequence there is a blend of the better 
cultivated fields with the wild aspects of nature. 

The corn fields of Vermont are chiefly the result of dairying, and also 
the pasture lands where the roving foot loves to wander in search of 



142 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

beauty. Cows, being fastidious, leave various growths untouched, so that 
there are wild gardens scattered over the pastures. Sheep will eat what 
cows ignore, and a sheep pasture cleaned of shrubs and plants has thus less 
of interest than one where cattle have fed. In the cow-grazed pastures the 
soft smoothness of the sod is always delightful. The outcropping ledges 
form seats, an occasional isolated tree adds to the charm, while the herds 
of Jerseys or Holsteins moving across the downs give beautiful notes of 
form and color. Most delightful building sites, ready prepared, can also 
be found in the pastures. 

Thus, to the dairy interest we owe varied beauty. To it we mostly 
owe the visions of hay cocks; of ribbon roads over the farm; of the slow- 
moving loads of hay, sweeter than any manufactured perfume; of the 
little private pastures where the calves are kept by themselves; and of all 
the concomitant variations of farm labor incident to the keeping and caring 
for live stock. 



XXV. A TASTE FOR THE BEAUTIFUL 

IF the Vermont farmer or tradesman were asked what he thought of 
beauty, his answer might be more startling than agreeable. Yet when 
he chooses a wife he does so largely for her " looks." The greatest good 
we can do for people is to encourage them to look for, to cherish, and 
to enjoy beauty. 

The greatness of human character consists in the number of its adaptations 
to law; that is, in the degree of its harmony with eternal truth. Now 
beauty is no small component of truth, and runs through every aspect of 
nature and human life. The character, therefore, that does not apprehend 
beauty is a very warped and partially developed character. For beauty 
refers not merely to external form or color, but to expression, to ideas, 
to the shapes and harmonies of universal truth. No human life, therefore, 
can be worth much unless it cherishes beauty. 



A TASTE FOR THE BEAUTIFUL 145 

That which is exquisite in beauty is the highest expression of intelli- 
gence and power and affection. The best of its kind that appeals to reason 
is, of course, always to be desired. Through the pagan ages the most 
beautiful as the pagans saw it was often worshiped because it expressed 
to the unenlightened mind, as to our own, the best that mind knew. And 
the ancients were right in that particular. 

Our present aim is to make evident how human life in the average may 
be, and ought to be, enriched by learning to appreciate beauty at its real 
worth. 

The average man does truly appreciate a fine character. But here moral 
distinctions often become confused, as in the recent attempts to name the 
outstanding great names of America. Capacity in one direction is often 
taken for greatness. And capacity in one little department of life, as 
that of dancing, or singing, has sometimes induced the casting of votes 
for persons limited to such narrow capacities. As if such persons should 
therefore stand among the few great names of American history! Ob- 
viously a well-rounded, majestic character is alone worthy to be selected 
among a score of persons who shall represent greatness. That is, perfect 
beauty, or nearly perfect, in art, or life, is essential for enrollment in any 
real Valhalla. 

But the' average person, if he feels these truths, does not usually express 
them. How far he feels them we cannot know, but we do know that if in 
the scheme of education those things that constitute true greatness of char- 
acter are pointed out continually, the average person will at last look 
upon greatness as something different from the greatness of a conquering 
general. In Germany the radically wrong basis of education was in setting 
before children not only an unbeautiful, but even a repulsive ideal. 

There is too little exaltation in education of those characters which are 
symmetrical as well as strong. And in general, applied to material things, 
the highest mountain, the biggest of anything in nature, is the most talked 
about, as if mere mass were merit or could be attractive. Mass, rather 
than form or merit, catches popular taste. That is to say, the taste for the 



146 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

beautiful requires development along all lines at once. It is said one may 
enjoy anything without analyzing it. That is a misleading statement, for 
at least the power of analysis must exist in us if we are truly appreciative. 
The very power of appreciation of beauty holds in it, latent, perhaps, but 
not less real, the knowledge of what beauty is. This is only another way 
of saying that the artist can see more in a sunset than the untrained person. 
Education in the common schools can point out beauty of form and color, 
all that is visible in a landscape, but often education merely expresses the 
demand of a community. That demand is not usually sufficiently concrete. 
But whoever convinces a neighborhood that its roads and streams are 
beautiful; whoever shows them an aspect of their landscape, a grouping, 
a composition of any kind, does them a good, and, we may say, an 
imperative service. 

This sort of cultural work among all the people will not be done soon, 
or ever fully done. But the American who does not learn, like the 
Hollander, that there is a nobility of shape and color in his countryside 
is just so far poorer than the Hollander. For if we study the famous 
paintings of the ages we find that the scenes they represent are not the 
most beautiful scenes that could have been selected, but that such scenes 
as the painter had before him he immortalized. Painters are generally 
restricted, either financially, or by their prejudices or their kind of talent, 
to the depiction of certain sorts of things only. Thus probably the Hol- 
land painter never thought of leaving Holland to find a better or different 
landscape than that before him. His intensive patriotism, the wonted 
scenes of his childhood, and the example of other artists who preceded, 
all tended to keep him in a groove. He finally came to believe that the 
subjects, as well as the atmosphere, of Holland were ideal for the painter. 
In his department of endeavor he wrought wondrously, so that now, in 
criticism, we do not say, What a wonderful landscape! but, How well this 
is done! 

If, however, the American with his thoroughly varied landscape learns 
to love each one for its special beauties, and to understand that in some 



A TASTE FOR THE BEAUTIFUL 149 

feature, at least, the view from his own door is superior to any other 
landscape, he has made progress in the discernment of beauty and his life 
is fuller. 

That beauty in our country is unappreciated is proved by the very 
meager number of American artists who can find a market for their land- 
scapes. The artist is not being encouraged. Whenever a competent artist 
does good work in America it is only after long years of patient effort 
that he is sought out and appreciated. Good American landscapes should 
hang on the walls of every home, as evidence of our patriotism and 
love of the beautiful. 

We hope to see the day when many fine scenes in Vermont will be 
placed on canvas by hands that combine love and power. But it is a 
curious and unreasonable thing that artists group in colonies. It would 
be as sensible for all fishermen to crowd together and cast their lines 
in the same pool. Artists ought to be roamers. Artists have proved 
strangely inept in getting to spots most worth while to paint. If com- 
petition and grouping of artists is necessary to artistic work, certainly 
they should have reached the height of their development. 

The itinerant postal card maker pictures the schoolhouse, which has 
no character, the meeting-house, without character, the business block, 
wholly characterless. This itinerant has neither time nor taste for seek- 
ing those features which, lying near each village, give it distinctiveness, 
which are different from any other spot on earth. For though the human 
face sometimes resembles its fellows very closely, as in twins, or in parent 
and child, there are no two landscapes alike, nor any landscape that is 
twice alike. The shifting lights and the changing vegetation make as many 
pictures as there are days in the year. The clouds never precisely repeat 
themselves. There is individuality in every tree, and some say in every 
blade of grass. Not to press the point too far, we wish to insist on this 
at least, that the versatility of nature is so great that she never repeats 
herself exactly, and every spot on earth has an individuality. 

This individuality needs emphasis because the trend of government, the 



150 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

easy form of education, and the power of fashion all tend toward a dull 
uniformity of men and things. Factory products, made of interchange- 
able parts, are sought to be paralleled in the scheme of the communist, to 
whom any distinction is anathema. There is a sufficient sameness in- 
herent in human nature. It is emphasized sufficiently. Lack of culture, 
lack of thought, of care, tend to sameness, and a base sameness. The high 
breeding of animals is by selection, and by an extreme care for excellence. 
Otherwise, if this principle were not followed, not merely in breeding 
stock, but in developing plants, we should drop back to wild conditions and 
nomad life. 

Great men are inevitably individualists in their development, and com- 
munists in providing some great good for society in general. A man like 
Edison is as far as possible from the average man, but the average man 
is benefited more by Edison than by a million average men. The artist 
catches the particular glory of one spot — its contours of beauty, its colors 
of splendor, its mystery, the particular merit or wonder it has to reveal, 
its alliance with and reach after connection with the universe, and then on 
his canvas the scene lives for long to inspire and gladden the dull day, 
in a distant region, perhaps. Thus its beauty is multiplied for the world, 
and multitudes joy in what at first thrilled only one observant, sensitive 
spirit. For whatever we find for ourselves passes along, whether we wish 
it so or not, to others. 

The gist of enjoyment in life arises out of observation. Ask a series 
of persons what they see in passing through a township. Some will be able 
to tell it all in three sentences. Others have seen volumes. He who saw 
most lived most. He who sees only fertile lands and herds does not see 
enough. He who sees only grace and color does not see enough. He 
who looks merely as a geologist or a botanist sees too little. To be broad 
enough to see it all, man must be a god. To be so narrow as to see only 
commercialism is to be less than man. To glory in the acres because they 
are beautiful, are rich, are lovable, are hiding wonderful truth, is an end- 
less source of large satisfaction to an active well-grown mind. That is 
what it is to be a grown-up dweller on God's earth. 



A TASTE FOR THE BEAUTIFUL 153 

It has been said that the Greeks lacked a love of landscape. If that 
be so, the fact is one more illustration of the partial development of all 
races. That which remains of Greek art certainly has little in it suggestive 
of landscape beauty. The love of landscape is much in evidence in the 
books of our later novelists. It has become a fad to analyze landscapes 
and to go into details in regard to their appearance under certain weather 
conditions or when viewed in certain moods by their characters. So far 
so good. But the fashion of noticing landscapes has not sufficiently estab- 
lished itself among the body of the people. 

In America the average citizen tells the traveler of a broad view at the 
summit of a certain mountain road. He never has the nearer beauties 
mentioned to him. A view is supposed to be important in proportion to its 
extent. Intrinsic beauty is entirely forgotten. " You can see the ocean 
from that hill, in a fair day," we are told. Well, suppose we can. It is 
far preferable to see it as we stand on its shore. 

The framing of pictures by the eye, as one walks or drives, is a most 
delightful occupation. A great camera company is covering the road with 
the statement that there is a picture ahead. This statement is a great 
surprise to the ordinary man. Many a time have we seen handsome motor 
cars roll along through a charming country with never an eye of their 
occupants turned right or left. God has made his pearls prominent 5 it is 
for us to find them and use them. But there are many travelers (we say 
it from intimate knowledge) that neither know the points of the compass 
nor even the states they are in. Mountains, rivers, cottages — everything 
entrancing — flashes by. Less observing than the animals, less thankful, 
these passengers go on their way telling what Jane said to Kate and what 
Kate said to Jane. 

Some years since we took a party through the best parts of old New 
England. Fifty miles we traveled unable to induce the party to notice 
the beauty of the region, and then, judging it was the works of men our 
guests desired to see, we invited them into one of the important historical 
museums of America. One accepted our invitation, the other two remained 



154 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

in the car! The incident was a reminder of a country woman who seldom 
went away from home, but who, being taken for a drive, would say to any 
observation, " I have to 'tend to my riding! " 

So roads are useless, and the fair expanse of heaven and earth, to those 
who having eyes see not 5 who have not learned the primary idea of edu- 
cation, to observe in order to know. 

If we proceed to try to point out some of the more beautiful aspects 
of Vermont, we are aware that we can do so only as laymen in art. We 
leave to real artists the better professional analysis. 

The early morning is the silent time of nature. Then, indeed, mists 
may be on the hills, but as these mists ascend, and before they have entirely 
cleared the peaks, the views are more beautiful than when every skyline 
is clear. That is, any element of mystery in a landscape adds to its charm. 
This is felt in the curving road or stream. As each disappears around a 
cliff or clump of trees, it leads us on to learn what is beyond. 

The element of naturalness, even when we do not secure it in a picture, 
is still demanded by the eye. That is, a country where every wall is perfect 
and every homestead like a lodge in a park, is not a thoroughly interesting 
country. To be interesting it must have something, at least, left as nature 
made it. It is this impulse which craves naturalness that has of late induced 
the leaving of great boulders on lawns and allowing wild flowers to grow 
by them. We are learning to do less with nature. We can never success- 
fully imitate her. If we make living with her possible by leading winding 
roads through her domain and perhaps clearing away rubbish which, if 
left, might require generations to care for, we have often done enough. 

But besides containing natural objects a good landscape picture must 
have certain other characteristics. There must be in it a vista, a certain 
point which leads the eye towards a central object or a central light. Any 
object looked at square on may be photographed, but such a view does not 
give a picture in the artistic sense. We get a picture by looking up or down 
a valley or stream, rather than across. 

The matter of detail is also something to be considered in a picture. 






v^*>?= 












d 




THE LANE 157 

A general view is no picture. Whatever mountains may rise behind, there 
is no picture unless the foreground has some item of interest. One tree 
always outweighs a forest, for its beauties are more visible. As children 
stop, look, and listen when you begin your story, " Once there was a man," 
so the eye naturally desires the concrete, near thing in every picture be- 
fore you tell it of sky or mountain. A flock of two thousand sheep, scat- 
tered over a wide expanse, as we pictured them in California, is far inferior 
in interest to a dozen sheep near at hand. 



XXVI. THE LANE 

THE lane was rather crooked, because there were ledges to go around 
and the hill was steep. It took a turn by an ancient chestnut that 
lifted its big, spiral, quickly tapering trunk in a mass of raspberry bushes 
on both sides of the post and rail fence by which it grew. Opposite the 
tree, on the other side of the lane, was a comfortably rambling wall of 
rounded field stone. The rails on their side of the lane had bleached to 
the color of the stones, and the pale green lichen covered stone and rail 
impartially. 

At the top of the hill the lane widened into the pasture. Wiggly paths 
crawled through the grass. Over them an occasional apple tree reached a 
twisty branch. Its petals fell softly from its blossoms and floated slowly 
away. It was a sharp spring morning. The boy was barefoot. As he put 
up the bars after the cows he could not resist stepping into the shallow 
water of the rill that ran near the barn. A crow alighted on a high limb 
near by. The boy tried on it a pebble from the brook, but with less success 
than David, though the craw felt his narrow escape and flew cawing away. 
The boy wished he were a man. 

Twenty years after: The lusty young farmer comes down the lane 
at milking time, and meets at the bars a ruddy girl, scarce twenty, with 
his baby reaching and crowing and kicking. The soft lights touch them. 



158 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

They are like the first family, only more daring, more hopeful, and better 
armed to meet the world. 

Twenty years after: Again the mother of his baby girl meets him at 
the foot of the lane. Little waves, compounded of trouble, joy, and tender- 
ness, chase across her face. " Hatty writes she is engaged. She says her 
man is good, and his father is taking him into business." 

Twenty years more: Down the lane comes the grizzled farmer, and 
at the bars stands mother, kind, furrowed, but sturdy. " Supper is ready, 
John. Hatty's boy is coming tomorrow with his young wife and baby. 
Our children are all gone away, John, but their children are coming on." 

They go in hand in hand to supper. It is a long lane. It goes from 
the home to the hill. 



XXVII. THE OLD CELLAR HOLE 

T T E WAS past middle-age, and bore on his face the story of suflFering, 
-■--■- of achievement. He walked somewhat stiffly up the slope near the 
roadside, and paused by the old cellar hole. Old lilac bushes stood in an 
irregular row along one end of the hole, and a pear tree leaned over the 
other end. 

The house had gone a good many years before, probably by fire, though 
it had left no trace except a few blackened ashes. A couple of stone hitch- 
ing posts in front showed old rusty rings. This generation needed them 
not, and they bowed somewhat apologetically for presuming to hold their 
stand so long. For nothing was hitched nowadays. Three short walls 
of field stone met in the rear. An old maple, deeply wounded where its 
largest limb had broken ofiF, stood by a corner of the wall. Not far away 
the limb itself lay shattered. A forsaken lane marked where the bam 
had been. 

The man pushed about with his feet till he found the smooth gneiss 
stone at what must have been the back door. He gave a poke .with his 




^ 



THE OLD CELLAR HOLE i6i 

cane at one end of the stone. He was trying to find the hole where the 
toad used to live! That toad had scared him a little, and afterward made 
him laugh, sixty years before, when as a toddler he had discovered the 
queer thing. That was the first time his mother had let him climb down 
alone from the door and go about the yard by himself. No, it couldn't 
be sixty years! It seemed like last week. There were some rose bushes at 
the other end of the stone. He plucked a bulbous seed from one of them, 
looked at it a full minute, then carefully placed it in his pocket. 

As he stood there musing the lowering sun, looking through a clump 
of locusts, made long streams of light about the old cellar hole. There 
was the flight of stone steps where the potatoes were carried down in the 
fall by his father's big-jointed hands holding firmly to the ears of the 
bushel basket. Yes, and there were the relics of the bin, under the brick 
arch. Over on that side used to stand the apple barrels, when his father 
sent him down after supper with a candle to bring up a dish of Bellflowers 
or Baldwins. It was a pretty dark place, and he was only four, but he left 
the door at the top of the stairs open, just a crack. 

The sun sank lower. The man leaned on his cane, more with wistful 
relaxation than with weakness. As he still looked down he spied one or 
two blackberry bushes right on the edge of the cellar hole. He remem- 
bered when father was oflF at war, in 1862, that mother and sister and he 
had plenty of sweet blackberries from those very bushes. There were two 
berries ripe now. He picked them carefully. He took oflF his hat and 
looked about, and up and down in the cellar hole. Then he ate the two 
blackberries. Had one seen the formal way he did it, one would almost 
have thought he was partaking of the holy communion. But nobody saw 
him. It was getting late. The light was a little misty now, or so it seemed 
to the man. He sighed a few times, then turned toward the road. 

As he faced the setting sun a look of solemnity and determination, 
mingled with the light of a longing hope, came upon his countenance. The 
old cellar hole was left behind him. Camel's Hump looked smaller than 
usual; the circle of hills looked nearer; the valleys smaller, but more 
beautiful. Only the old cellar hole looked big. 



1 62 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

XXVIII. THE COUNTRY SCHOOLHOUSE 

THE old schoolhouse stood under a huge, glorious, vase elm at the 
corner where the roads met. It was a square building, with a hip 
roof and high windows. We could not see out of them unless we stood. 
There were solid shutters outside to be closed during vacation. 

Within, the walls were sheathed with wide pine boards painted drab, 
as near dust color as possible. The benches were so made that the back of 
one formed a desk for another. There were notches and strange marks 
cut in the seat by the new knife. The teacher would have seen it if tried 
on the desk. The back seat was a plank against the wall. The oldest 
girls on the one side and the oldest boys on the other, occupied this back 
seat, and felt a little larger than they would ever feel in after life. The 
half -man, half-boy, when he reached the back seat was sometimes saucy 
to the teacher, and then a rather brisk passage of arms occurred. 

A barrel stove stood near the teacher's table. The boys took turns in 
feeding the long sticks down vertically into the coals. The round lid was 
often red hot. In summer, when the occasional revivalist preached in the 
schoolhouse, he would sometimes bring his fist down on the then cold stove 
lid until it rang again. It was the only irony in the sermon, which was 
usually hot enough. 

The pail of water was brought from a farmhouse by two boys deputed 
for this delightful duty. At recess there was a scramble to get out into the 
pasture where the ball game was waged. At noon, on hot summer days, 
we ran a half-mile to the old swimming hole, undressing on the way. It 
was not a great task to throw oif a jacket, a pair of trousers, and a shirt, 
for there was neither hat, shoe, nor stocking in the party. 

The swimming hole was a small, abandoned mill dam. The brook which 
fed it came from springs, and the water was always shiveringly cold. Here 
we splashed and played pranks for a long half-hour, by guess, for a watch 
there was not in this whole party of imps. With never a towel to rub 
ourselves down, we jumped into two garments and ran for school with the 



THE COUNTRY SCHOOLHOUSE 165 

third over our shoulders. It was a bad five minutes in store if we slunk 
in five minutes late, thin, white, and panting. " You have been in swim- 
ming — I shall inform your parents," came the voice of the teacher. For 
it was a well-known, well-broken rule, that no boy should go in swimming 
at noon. He who did so had to eat his luncheon while on the run, and 
plunge hot into the cold pool. No wonder parents forbade it, and that 
teachers did their best to prevent early deaths or a race of dyspeptics! 

In winter Uncle had white Fanny harnessed in the sleigh. Mamie was 
tucked in, and the knowing Fanny trotted away to the schoolhouse door and 
came home by herself. One day a neighbor who lived between the ends 
of the route attempted to use the empty conveyance to make a call on Uncle. 
But no, Fanny veered out and hurried on when she saw the presumed 
trespasser by the roadside. At night, also, Fanny was sent oflF in the empty 
pung to bring her young mistress from school. Though there were three 
intervening houses and two crossroads, Fanny never failed in her fleet 
errand, either going or returning. 

The best of the teachers of this old country school is still living. Though 
conversant with the wide world and sharing its abundance, she has pre- 
ferred to return to her native hills. Patient, wise, steady, faithful, she 
left an ineffaceable impression that knowledge was worth having and that 
it adorned and dignified life, and that she could and would impart it, 
whether we wished to take it or no. Her pleasant, prompt voice, her clear 
mind, her power to make things go in the school, ungraded though it was, 
all carried weight with us, and we learned more rapidly than ever before 
or since. For personality in the teacher is everything. 

The arithmethic was Greenleaf's. We went through it, and on our 
cracked slate successfully solved all the problems in percentage and at last 
the trick sums: found out how much the blacksmith was paid who asked 
a cent for the first horseshoe nail driven, and doubled the charge for each 
successive nailj we successfully got the fox, goose, and peck of corn over 
the river, each intact. We had the six Hilliard readers from James and the 
Dog — " James will soon feed his dog " (a huge mastiflF) — to Marco 



1 66 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

Bozzaris. We bounded the states, and drew maps of them on the black- 
board. We lined up for the spelling class, and went down on " victuals " 
and were not comforted until we reached home and the real victuals went 
down us. We were just ordinary children, but by eleven years we were 
through the course and closed it by parsing, " The moping owl doth to the 
moon complain of such as, etc." 

It was the best schoolhouse and the best system in the world, so long as 
the best teacher stood there. She began praying; she ended smiling. May 
the recollections of her old age still cheer her long evenings. We crown 
her among " America's Twelve Greatest Women." And the hundreds of 
American boys can say the same of their teachers, and all will say truth. 
For a good teacher is the noblest of women, and a bad teacher the most 
pitiable. 



XXIX. THE FIELD OF POTATOES 

WE WERE called on to drop in the furrow as we walked, the two 
pieces of potato. They must be eighteen inches apart, according 
to judgment, and a good exercise of that faculty it was. The half -bushel 
basket which held the potatoes was heavy at first, and one's arm ached, 
but though we had never heard of Aesop and his fable of the bread, it 
was cheering to find the basket lightening at every step. 

When harvest time came, one farmer's boy of six was oflFered a sheep 
if he would pick up all the potatoes dug from the field. Six acres of 
potatoes! When two men dug it was a back and leg ache for the boy, but 
when one man dug even a small boy had not enough to do. There was 
time to pause and philosophize beside the basket. The tales of the digger, 
also, were worth hearing. Especially that cheering one of a man who died 
from eating too many apples! Not a ray of hope came to the boy in regard 
to his own fate, for he had eaten all the apples he could find, and never 
ceased eating except when too far from the tree or the barrel! The autumn 






'^^^/:£-i 



THE FIELD OF POTATOES 169 

days were full of dreams. Anything was possible on those mellow hill- 
sides. From them went out the greatest of merchants, the greatest of in- 
dustrial leaders, and almost the greatest of statesmen. But the highest 
ambition of the boy of six years, was a jigsaw or a " boughten " sled with 
good red paint. 

Forty bushels was the day's stint of potatoes in the time between chores 
and chores. The red oxen, Star and Swan, were brought out to the field 
to draw the harvest home. At the house the little and big potatotes, 
already separated in the field, went to their allotted places 5 and at meal 
time came the compensation for much drudgery when the potatoes were 
eaten, popping from the oven, with new milk and salt. 

But the poetry departed from the potato field with the coming of the 
all-consuming beetle. As we saw the green plants spreading their leaves 
over the brown earth, visions of disagreeable work ahead clouded all other 
pictures. For at first, before the days of spraying, we had to knock the 
intruding bugs deftly from the plant to a pan and then apply kerosene. 

But to return to those oxen. At an age, even tenderer than six, one boy 
was deputed to walk beside the great, slow, kind beasts and carry the goad 
stick as the potato field was plowed. At the turning of the row, the boy's 
heel tripped on the high furrow; he fell backward, and Star lifted his 
great foot, and even touched the boy's chest with his hoof, but sensing 
something wrong held his incomplete step until the frightened plowman 
snatched the child away. 

Many a narrow escape occurs on the farm. The classic instance is that 
of a tomboy of about ten, in the days of the hoop-skirt. She leaped from 
a high to a low mow of hay, caught her crinoline on a half hidden wooden 
fork, and hung like a scarecrow for a moment till she came loose, minus 
the hoops. Before she could recover herself and her property, guests 
of her father, it being town-meeting day, entered the barn. The child hid 
while the astonished father looked at his little daughter's fashionable 
habiliments hanging high on the fork. For years after, any unruliness 
in public on the part of that girl, was quickly squelched if the father started 
to mention " an accident that happened some years since to my daughter! " 



170 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

XXX. THE HAY FIELD 

IT WAS a great event for the boy of eleven when he was oflFered a 
dollar a day for his services in haying. Ivy poisoned him, blistering 
feet and arms. The fierce sun of a New England summer beat on him. 
He must turn the drying grass, rake, and make the load 5 and, toughest task 
of all, take the hay on the high mow from the pitcher and stow the heavy 
forkfuls under the hot eaves. It was a stifF grind while it lasted, and it 
lasted a month, sometimes six weeks, as one was often " let out," or 
" changed work." 

Once the horses started unbidden as the loader was on the rear of the 
load, and oflF he went, striking head-first, just avoiding a boulder. But 
the big wild strawberries found in the grass, the occasional respite when 
sent to bring ginger tea to the men, and the big dollar when the day was 
done, were all balancing joys. 

The haying season was the great rush time of the year. Everybody and 
everything bent to it. ' And when the thunder heads loomed in the west 
over a fine field of well-made hay, how the springless hay racks rattled as 
they were galloped afield! How the men leaped to it, hurling on huge 
forkfuls! How they tumbled it into the mows and rushed forth again, 
a race against nature! As the terrible blackness increased in the sky, the 
set teeth, reeking faces, and tensed muscles of the men responded. The 
nervous horses caught the fear of impending calamity 5 and when the last 
load was hustled in, as the first heavy drops fell, there was ended the most 
spirited, splendid spurt that was seen on the farm in a year's end. 





.i^ 



VERMONT DAMSELS AND DAMES 173 

XXXI. VERMONT DAMSELS AND DAMES 

XT THEN we are telling of the beauties of Vermont it goes without 
» ^ saying that her damsels and matrons are included among the chief 
objects of interest. Still, we like to say it. 

In school days, when the girl with a long braid of yellow hair came down 
the road, looking straight ahead, we " passed by on the other side," but not 
for the same reason that moved the Pharisee. It was because we " dassen't " 
cross over. We could not have spoken if we had tried. And did we ever 
pull that braid? We did not. As soon seize the hanging end of alive wire! 
And then the intense scorn that would have flashed like blue lightnings 
from those eyes! The other girl, a good deal older, who freely reached 
her hand in the games we played — somehow it was no matter whether we 
took it or not! Then there was a slim, prim, little Winnie, who would say, 
"Hello! " in a small voice. A kindly little girl, nothing snobbish about 
Winnie 5 she seemed like one of our own folks. Then there was that girl 
who talked through her nose and had a rough skin, who once threw a note 
saying, " I love you." She must have been ten. We boys were nine. And 
at once she became the last girl in the school that any boy would care to talk 
with. Then there was the girl who lived in the big house on the hill, 
whose people had a college president as a relative. She was a thing apart. 
She inclined to be sarcastic and no boy could bear that. So important was 
she that we never thought of her as any one to speak with. Once we all 
stole up and hung a crimped tissue paper May-basket on her front door, 
and ran a mile like Jehu's horses lest we get caught — a deep disgrace. 
They were all lovely girls to look at, and good at heart, though we did 
not imagine a girl could be kind, who jeered at the boys. We did not 
know it was part of the girl's natural armory. 

So the years went on. In boyhood we spoke little to the girls for fear 
they would not answer us; and afterward we spoke little for fear they 
would answer. There was an odd repulsion, pride, bashfulness or what 
not that kept the boys by themselves. Then there were the young mothers! 



174 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

How wonderful they were, and how strange that they seemed to love those 
ugly babies! The older matrons were always so good to the neighbors' 
boys. It was in meeting these mothers that the boys got their first hint 
of good and kindly manners. When sent on errands to the neighbors, how 
we longed to accept an invitation to supper! But of course it would not 
do, because when we reached home we would be asked, " Well, did you 
tell all you knew? " 

The older matrons were wonderful to the boys in the seeming complete- 
ness of their motherly nature. The boy naturally feels that a woman, 
with her kind ways, her large affection, capable of taking in the neighbors' 
boys with her own, and her thorough understanding of the boy nature, is 
a fountain of power, wisdom and mystery. She embodies the human race 
in the rotundity of her attributes. And the country woman, especially, 
accustomed to do everything for her family, has a reposeful strength very 
impressive to the small boy. If it is a doughnut or a piece of pie that he 
wants 5 if it is a loose button or a ripped straw-hat band to be attended to; 
if it is a sliver to be extracted; or a lesson in morals to be inculcated — the 
wants, the joys, and the woes of life are taken to the womanly source of 
comfort and help. To the boy she is a present visible Providence; all of 
God that he knows comes from her. This is no less true in the hours of 
punishment, when the boy is sent out to cut the stick to be used on his own 
person. For the feminine soul understands psychology sufficiently to 
know that the chief punishment is the dread that accompanies the long task 
of procuring the stick! 

A country woman, especially in the time when wasp waists were in style, 
and when frailness of body was fashionable for women, was by her duties 
and sympathies removed from the thrall of vogue so far, at least, that 
she was a sturdy woman in body and mind. To her the sculptor must have 
gone in those days for his Juno or even for his Hebe. Now when it is 
allowed to all women to be beautiful, it seems odd to remember that the 
only normal woman in those days was one who worked. 

The helpless resignation of the good man to his wife is more obvious 



COUNTRY COURTESY 177 

in the country, It seems to us, than in the city. The country woman's com- 
plete charge of the commissary renders her more looked to than is the case 
where the city man brings home the daily driblets from market to make 
the family meal, and goes to the tailor every time he wants a button 
sewed on. 

The outdoor work, in the last generation in New England, was not shared 
at all by the women, except as a matter of grace in haying time occasionally. 
The writer saw many country homes in his childhood, yet never knew of 
a milkmaid. But sometimes the father would diplomatically approach a 
grown daughter to induce her to drive the horse-rake for an hour or so, 
or even assist in making the load of hay. Certain coveted ribbons, or a 
day or two on a visit to a relative, after haying, were understood to be by 
way of honorarium for his daughter's complaisance. 



XXXII. COUNTRY COURTESY 

TT^ VERY human society worth maintaining has its decent restrictions, 
-*-^ its interplay of give and take. In these restrictions, and in certain 
social aspects, the farmer is much of a gentleman. He may, indeed, be 
bothered by the sequence of a long array of forks at a banquet, but he 
has the heart of kindness, which is the source and guide underlying good 
manners. City folks are surprised to find themselves bowed to on country 
roads. It is the innate recognition of brotherhood felt by all who face the 
world's work. The farmer may lack the nice little touches of urban custom, 
but on his own domain no man is more respectful, for he respects himself 
first. And he is a good Samaritan, or ,was until the itinerant beggar made 
game of him. No hand is more gentle in nursing the sick. Well we re- 
member the tenderness with which a farmer, who came to town twice a 
week, would lift his invalid niece. She drew strength from his mighty 
arm, and looked forward ,with gladness to the hour of his coming. 

In the old days discourtesy to women was an unheard-of thing in the 



178 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

better parts of the New England farming districts, and we hope these con- 
ditions still prevail. Sex delicacy, so lacking now in our towns, was a 
supreme, unbroken, and unmentioned law. That element in the male 
population that might otherwise have transgressed, ,was held in stern check 
by the decent citizen, and fear of social scorn was the most powerful 
deterrent of evil. 



XXXIII. SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY 

THE meeting-house lot was cut out of the big pasture on the hill. 
Near the center stood the church with the graveyard on one side 
surrounded by a stone wall. The big corner stone nearest the church had 
a depression which was understood to be the devil's foot-print. Where he 
stepped next, deponent saith not. We fear it was in the church itself, be- 
cause in time it appeared some malign influence got into the old meeting- 
house. Of course this visible evidence on the stone, that the Evil One 
was snooping about for his prey, exalted the graveyard into a fearsome place 
at night. Though why devil's work was ever supposed to be confined to 
the night, has not been explained. 

The minister was a benign, charming man. He was correct of speech, 
sweet of spirit, and while not brilliant, shone with a mild and steady light 
never subject to eclipse. His congregation listened to him with reverence 
as they sat in the white painted pews with buttoned doors. In the gallery 
facing the minister sat the choir, consisting of volunteers. Though we 
wished that some had not volunteered, still the eflFect of many of the old 
fugues was emphatic and unique. 

After the morning worship, an old farmer had a class of " us boys " in 
the corner by the side of the pulpit. We can remember, now, the lesson 
which lay " in the days of Herod the king." It was before the time of 
" lesson helps." The wrinkled, heavy brown hand of the farmer held the 
open Bible, but the man himself was our Bible. As he walked, thankful 



SUNDAY IN THE COUNTRY i8i 

and diligent in the midst of God's works, he was always a powerful sermon. 
After the lesson everybody sang that tender song, which ran, as I 
remember, 

" / think when I read that sweet story of old. 
How Jesus was here among men, 
How he called little children like lambs from the fold — 
I should like to have been with Him- then." 

It was all, to us, a child, very eflFective — the influence of really good 
people, without a particle of cant or formalism. There was calmness 5 the 
silence was broken only by the thin note of the locust. Outside there was 
the wonderful summer prophecy of good, — in the soft grass about the 
steps, the listening foliage and the intermission of all activity that we 
might think of our connection with the unseen world. As we trudged 
homeward, our copper-toed leg-boots in the white dust, we were conscious 
that the day had much of good and charm. 

In the afternoon we used to climb high in a greening apple tree, with a 
book of stories of old heroes and worthies. Probably the main impression 
of Sunday aside from that memorable " going to meeting," was the sense 
of release from week-day tasks. During the week we had no leisure to 
listen to the outside world. The marvel of this world, when the book we 
were reading dropped, or when we went to or returned from the meeting- 
house, never ceased. Every grass blade was a miracle, every bumble bee 
a challenge to make a philosopher. The clouds strolled at a Sabbath day 
gait across the hilltops. Beauty reigned, supreme, mysterious, worshipful. 
A country that God made, and men loved, a country that calls back her 
children from afar! She has placed her seal on their infancy, and tied 
their aflfections with cords like steel. We can never forget her, or her 
glory and silent eloquence, especially as we saw her on the summer Sun- 
days of our boyhood. 



i82 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

XXXIV. THE PICTURES IN DETAIL 

IN the course o£ this book various pictures shown in it have been men- 
tioned. Here we refer to others in which the reader may have interest 
or about which further information may be desired. 

On the center of page 19 is the view across the valley of the Battenkill 
at Bennington. A situation overlooking a fertile valley is perhaps the most 
satisfactory country site. There from one's window may be seen the source 
of much natural wealth. Mills and city streets, however imposing, never 
convey the sense of plenty as does a cultivated valley. Probably the in- 
fluence of heredity is responsible for the attraction that growing crops exert. 
For endless generations our forebears have looked out on planted fields, 
for even the most barbarous peoples cultivate land. 

The farm field exercises out of doors the same sort of deep impression 
as the hearth within doors. There, without, the year's sustenance is grow- 
ing and maturing before one. Depending on no whim or pulse of trade, 
removed from the chances of lacking employment, the owner joys in his 
coming harvest, knowing it is enough. The fields acquire a charm for him 
apart from any special appeal they may have for the artist. 

The farmer knows what is under that sod or that ploughed land. He 
has walked over it many a year. He knows what to do to it, and knows 
what it will give him. The shocks of yellowing corn are the continual 
witness of his industry, his sagacity, and the harmony of nature with his 
toil. No wild or far-flung outlook can compare in attraction with fenced 
fields, which hold on every square foot the history of victory for the gen- 
erations that have known how to use them. 

At the top of page 23 is " A Mossy Stair." One passes this scene on the 
way from Manchester to Peru. The moss and lichen tinge the rocks with 
olive verdure. The fresh waters tumble over the step-like stones. The 
shadows from various waving trees play over all. When near such a spot, 
besides the coolness which always comes from falling water, one feels 
a sense of power and plenty. 




•^ 




THE PICTURES IN DETAIL 185 

" Home, Sweet Home," at the bottom of page 24, is found in the de- 
lightful nook called Dorset Hollow. The gambrel roof, the old porch, the 
weather-beaten walls, tell of long adjustment to the natural world and be- 
speak the comforts within. Without, the green natural lawn, never mowed, 
but worn down by farm work, is the most pleasing possible environment 
of the farmhouse. There the churning and sewing are done. There the 
family sit under the great rock maple in the twilight. There the neighbors 
stop for a chat. The open ground under a tree is properly called " Robin 
Hood's barn," and certainly no stately or pretentious erection of human 
hands can rival it in beauty, restfulness, freedom, and fine air. 

On the top of page 27 are the lambs in August, a picture called " The 
Favorite Corner." The half grown lamb is the most darling creature 
imaginable. More poetry has been written about lambs than anybody can 
ever read. A dozen lambs playing about in the home field are suggestive 
of every warm sentiment and every dear recollection in the age-long process 
of human development. Historically speaking we may fairly presume that 
sheep were the first animals domesticated. Certainly they are a finer farm 
feature than any other. Doubly good for the farmer, and trebly valuable 
as stimulants of the imagination and feeders of the finer rural sentiments, 
they are the jewelled center of any landscape. In symbolism sheep and 
lambs enter into religion more intimately than any other animal. Indeed, 
more than all others combined. As the sign of the Saviour, as the symbol 
of meekness and willingness to be led, as the simile under which childhood 
and fatherly affection are woven into parable, lambs mean more to humanity 
than any other living things not human. 

The strange obtruseness of law and custom in our day has rendered sheep 
raising rare. Dogs harry the sheep, and no farmer can for a moment feel 
that his flock is safe unless under his eye. To the settler the lambs were 
necessary. The matron's spinning wheel sang and her loom clanked almost 
the year through, as the result of sheep raising. One of the most beautiful 
and attractive chapters in the Bible deals with the ideal housewife and 
interweaves its thought with the twisted threads of her loom. She provides 
wool for her household. 



i86 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

It was common in the old days for a small boy on the farm to have set 
apart for him a certain lamb whose wool would be made into a suit for him. 
What delight in such familiar and special ordering of life! When the boy 
passed the orchard clothed in his new suit, there would be his own lamb 
fast growing another clip of wool for another year and another suit. The 
intimacy of human life with nature was emphasized and glorified by such 
an ideal arrangement. Such an intimacy tended to develop local flavor, 
aroma in character, and a sense of kindliness in the growing youth. 

There are those students of social life who believe the specialization of 
society will break down, and that we shall return to the pastoral state. A 
worse fate could befall society. The change would not kill poetry nor 
degrade character. It would, perhaps, favor the fruitage of many valuable 
traits now stunted. It would certainly take something out of the fret of 
our days and give room for a truer valuation of life. The meaning of 
existence may easily be hidden by the multiplicity of objects and motives 
in modern society. The more complex life becomes the more unstable and 
the less beautiful it is. A child and a lamb and a wisp of grassy an orchard 
bough and the sunlight j the robin's song 5 a mother smiling from the door 
— these are the things that reach the whole of simple, deep human nature 
and perhaps all of the nature of God. We are not fearful of the future of 
our race while love of these things lies back of our society. We may, per- 
haps we ought, perchance we must, return to such loves — near to the breast 
of the kindly earth. These are the loves without fever which result in no 
regret, which open the mind without guile. 

On page 28, at the bottom, is an active haying scene. In all the New 
England states hay is an important crop, but in Vermont it ranks as a chief 
product. Converted into butter, cheese, and meat for market, it brings her 
much revenue. 

The beauty of the waving fields of grass in flower is scarcely surpassed 
by any other natural scene. And to be best for the herd and sweetest to 
its taste it must be cut in the flower. The old method was to start into 
a field a crew of men, the leader of whom set the pace for the others. The 



THE PICTURES IN DETAIL 189 

swing of the scythe in heavy grass tested the muscle and skill of the best 
man, especially after the first hour. At the end of the swath all stopped 
to whet their scythes with the long narrow stone carried in a pocket made 
for the purpose in the blue overalls. The only other garment worn was a 
shirt, and sometimes even that was discarded. The ability of a youth 
to keep up with the good mower in the field was the final badge of man- 
hood. Sometimes an old man who looked incapable of much exertion 
would, after the first swath, set a killing pace. His knack for mowing, as 
well as main strength would return to him, and he would show " the boys " 
how it was done. 

The less sturdy or less skilful were obliged to narrow the swath in order 
to keep up with him. It was a disgrace to keep the pace down. The 
practised eye of the mower quickly took in the breadth and the smoothness 
of the cut. A good man was known by the path he left behind him. In 
this rigorous but just school there could be no pretence. Power and skill 
won. It was a school for character. The dissipated might start in bravely, 
but as the sun waxed hotter and the levelled spears of grass lay behind him, 
any looseness of life would tell in the stroke. Dutch courage had no place. 

As the hours went on a boy would come over from the house with a 
miniature wooden barrel carried by a strap slung over his shoulder. The 
contents of this country canteen had possibly best be left by us without 
investigation. But human curiosity is a persistent quality. In the earliest 
time very strong waters were working under the wood. It was thought 
men could neither mow well in the field nor fight well on a man-of-war 
without rum. In later times the cider of the previous season was used. 
It had plenty of tang. It was to the American farmer what wine is to the 
Frenchman. After the great wave of temperance reform a mixture of 
sugar and ginger in water was the usual beverage. This is what the writer 
remembers in his childhood, but with no particular sense of longing. It 
was no nectar of the gods. 

The mowing was done early in the day before the full power of the sun 
asserted itself. Six o'clock saw the crew bending their backs to the sweep 



190 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

of the scythe. An important reason for such early labor was that the sun 
might get as long a time as possible for turning the grass into hay. Some- 
what late grass, not too heavy, could on very clear hot days be cured and 
in the barn the day it was cut. Usually it must be raked into windrows and 
heaped into neat cocks at night, during which time it heated somewhat. 
Opened the following morning and shaken out, it was ready that day for 
storage. 

The great and looming danger was from rain. The crop was sometimes 
steeped when nearly dry by a heavy shower, and a great part of its value 
destroyed. The weather-wise person was always in demand. Everyone 
in the field was ready to forecast the day's sky-changes, and some, as usual, 
were wise and some were foolish. 

The bright, faintly green, fragrant hay in the great mow was a sight 
to gladden man and beast. As it was thrown down at feeding time and 
scattered before the eager cattle it helped to compose a picturesque scene, 
often neglectd by the artist. The height of the mow was carefully watched 
by the farmer as the season advanced. By the quantity of hay on hand 
he regulated his purchases or sales of stock, and sometimes he sold or 
bought hay. In the corners by the posts or in odd nooks the hens would 
steal their nests. The farmer's boy was supposed to search carefully over 
the surface of the mows. He was sometimes rewarded by a good nestful 
of eggs. The hens got no small part of their rations from the grass seeds 
that sifted from the day's feeding of the cattle. 

In " Better than Mowing," on page 222, we see an alleged farmer, in 
the fair valley of the Battenkill, resting his back by tickling the backs of 
the fishes. 

In " Fording the Upper Connecticut," page 143, we see the great load 
being drawn homeward. 

The modern haying methods have changed, but a strong back is still 
essential for harvesting a hay crop. The racking motion of the mowing- 
machine seat is stimulating to the circulation. Ordinarily no more practi- 
cal method on the farm of average size, except sheer lifting, is available 



THE PICTURES IN DETAIL 193 

for loading the hay. The pitcher sets his fork in deeply and swings to the 
load a weighty mass. The breaking of a fork handle is not unusual, and 
the pitcher is not half ashamed of such an event. A good man and a good 
fork, however, last long. The supple ash bears a shrewd spring, and an 
experienced pitcher knows how to make the handle a lasting and effectual 
extension of his good right arm. 

The hay pressers who travel over a country where hay is sold conduct 
a picturesque labor. The hay is thrown rapidly into the form made to 
receive it, and was formerly compressed by horse power into bales held to- 
gether by wooden hoops. 

The marketing of loose hay was a few years since also a pleasant sight. 
Some of the simpler days of great cities was marked by that proceeding, 
as the names of sections show, Haymarket Square in Boston being a case 
in evidence. In those days the oxen or horses drew to town a large load 
very carefully trimmed to workman-like proportions. A buyer was 
awaited, and the wits of buyer and seller were pitted till a bargain was 
struck. Meantime the beasts had their fodder, and the farmer his snack 
of hard molasses gingerbread. On the homeward journey he carried on 
the bottom of his now empty rack any supplies necessary: a barrel of flour, 
a jug of molasses, a dried codfish, or a stick of smoked herring. Perhaps, 
if matters were going well with him, gingham for a gown was added to 
his store, and he was hardly at peace with the world until he heard his 
wife's comment on the figure of the goods. 

The boy sometimes went up to town with the farmer, perched high on 
the load, on his way to the academy, and the price of the hay was passed 
by the calloused hand of the father to the equally calloused hand of the boy. 

Anybody who wanted work on a farm carried his recommendation in 
his palm. No farmer would hire delicate hands to work for him. It was 
a wonderful life, but some weakened. 

The old stage coach shown in " An Eventful Journey," on page 35, 
brings back an important feature of the bygone time. 

We remember a thirty mile journey on such a vehicle through the 



194 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

country from a small city to a large village, in the hot summer time. There 
were many stations where we left and took mail bags, almost invariably 
at a village store where everything was sold. While the American stage 
coach never came up with echoing horn, the smartness and the eclat of 
the English coach, it was nevertheless an arrival of no small import, espe- 
cially, as was often the case, when it ran only two or three times a week. 

On such a journey, in the forties and fifties, and even a score of years 
later, the pretty city cousin would go on a visit to her country cousin, and 
if a youngster of an impressionable age — anything below four-score years 
— was also a passenger with nothing to do but to look and listen, he per- 
haps found himself at the day's end minus a heart and plus a responsibility 
for life. The back seat of a stage coach was not the worst place for a 
flirtation more or less serious. The lurch of the vehicle around corners 
caused some natural stir within the coach which resulted in breaking the ice 
of reserve. Conversation naturally followed. The young lady might refer 
to certain books, of which she knew very little, and the youth might re- 
spond by assents about books of which he knew nothing at all. For it was 
a trifle of a disgrace in those days for a young man to know a novel. 

Sometimes the stage moving through a back country paused long enough 
for the collection of a hatful of apples, picked from the roadside where 
they had dropped by the wall. Sometimes a maiden would step lightly 
from the coach and gather the flowers by the way. On the crests of fair 
hills the passengers would look out on an unaccustomed country rolling 
beneath them, with its streams, forests, and fields. The corn, luscious 
green, to be eaten for dinner at the inn; the sheep herded in the green 
pastures; the white clouds sailing in the sky; the farms, and their invitation 
to a possible purchaser by the sign, " For Sale " — all occupied the pas- 
senger's time as fully as the prayer meeting did at home. And to think 
that a little gasoline wagon has succeeded this stage-coach poetry! 



*!SR:i 





AS IN A WINDOW 197 

XXXV. AS IN A WINDOW 

THE picture called " As in a Window," on page 39, suggests a little 
essay on what makes a picture beautiful or appealing. While we 
cannot always say why one thing is beautiful and another is ugly, we can 
sometimes find probable reasons for aesthetic appeals. 

A necessary feature of a perfect landscape would seem to be such a con- 
tour as would lead the eye from the viewpoint to a distance — as if the 
soul of beauty demanded to be carried on from the present situation to 
one beyond. If this is true then there is something deeper in aesthetics 
than perfection of form and color. In them is inherent the thought that 
all good things lead to better things. If the object that leads the eye away 
is not a stream, it may be a road, a path, or a long valley. On the contrary, 
a certain house may be so located as to look across a valley at a range of 
hills standing like a wall and cutting ofiF further vision. There is very 
little of appeal in such a prospect. There may indeed be a challenge to 
the imagination to picture what is beyond that wall. But it is openings and 
not barriers that stir the beholder most deeply. Thus the quaint old en- 
graving, " The Voyage of Life," was very popular as depicting an advance. 
Probably Bunyan's idea in picturing by allegory life as a pilgrimage had 
much to do with the popularity of his Pilgrim's Progress. The pilgrims 
to the shrine at Canterbury were much impressed we are told by the beauti- 
ful approach to the high altar of the cathedral. As if it were a way to 
heaven, it elevated their thoughts and led them on to higher things. 

It may, therefore, be laid down as the primary and possibly invariable 
principle of landscape beauty, that the suggestion of an opening possible 
for the beholder to follow, is the proper center of a picture. If here and 
there, as in the case of Ruskin's famous drawing of a thorn tree a portrait 
is secured, there is indeed an interest, but it is the same interest that centers 
on a piece of embroidery. It is special, not universal. It is without the 
best element of beauty. 

When the scene has in the foreground some human feature like Con- 



198 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

stable's " Hay Wain," we are perhaps satisfied by a foreground, because 
in it there is so much that is sweet and homely. But even in such cases a 
sky beyond attracts and there is seldom a picture in which a vista is not 
better than a merely immediate view. 

In a way this is astonishing, because, as a second element of attractive 
pictorial work the foreground must not only be interesting but must absorb 
most of the interest. The perfect picture, therefore, begins well and ends 
well. Attending to distance only, is not enough. One may say, ap- 
parently in a paradox, that the distance is uninteresting without a fore- 
ground. " The call of the road " begins where we are and goes on. 

There is, however, another deeper and commonly recognized law: no 
one sees anything in a picture except what is in one's self. This is why 
the unfamiliar is less interesting than the familiar. People care far less 
for pictures of distant and exotic scenes than for those near at hand. We 
have reference to the vast majority. In a university town classical pictures 
are popular because the minds of the people have been turned toward 
classical things. Portraiture is always popular because we know, or think 
we know, more about people than about things. 

A picture also has more appeal if it speaks to experience or leads the be- 
holder to interpret. If we see a shady lane pictured we are called to its 
coolness. If the ocean surges are depicted we wish to bathe in them, or, 
if they are too fierce, the masculine impulse rises to fight them. That is 
why marine pictures are seldom liked by women. 

Likewise pictures showing action are not liked when one is weary. 
Masterful pictures require beholders in a masterful mood. 

Sentiment in pictures is carefully portrayed by the Dutch painters. Their 
domestic scenes are ever appealing. Even their drinking scenes won ap- 
proval from the almost universally drinking public. The appeal to the 
sense of precision, of truth, of fidelity, in representation also meets a re- 
sponse in minds who love excellence. It is because there is a lack of regard 
for truth that the present shameless fad for cubism can exist. No one can 
love it who loves careful work — not patch work. If nature is said to be a 



AS IN A WINDOW 



201 



cubist in her broken crag formations, that is because she has not finished 
her work. Give her time and her landscapes gain the touch of perfection. 

A sense of contrast, also, often exercises a potent charm in a picture. 
Thus a lovely flower growing out of a rock tends to rouse the incipient 
capacity for comparison. Contrast is only one aspect of comparison — the 
most striking aspect. That is, it shows the greatest degree of unlikeness, 
and therefore arrests attention. If a dark pine tree is outlined against an 
azure sky it succeeds in calling attention, which is the first step toward 
making a student. Some painters are very careful to avoid contrasts. They 
are of a quiet nature themselves and do not recognize the interest that 
contrast may have for persons of a contrary temperament. But a certain 
degree of contrast is necessary to any outlines at all, either in life or art. 
It is only a question of how violent the contrast should be. '^iS| can seldom 
hope to find agreement on matters of taste. It is by divergences and 
clashes of opinion that the various aspects of truth or beauty are set forth, 
and so the world gains. 

The moralizing stirred by pictures is an element of interest. There is 
endless and silly ridicule of moralizing. The reason lies not in dislike of it, 
but in the fact that we all like it so well we cannot bear to indulge it in 
others. Everybody is moralizing all the time when he is normal, and most 
of the time when he is abnormal. The entire natural world being an end- 
less storehouse of symbols, we are reminded by what we see of what we 
cannot see. Philosophical and religious language grew up out of the 
common visions and common words of the race. Thus " spirit " comes 
from a Latin word which means " to blow," or the " wind." 

Any painting, therefore, which suggests images of things not seen at 
once doubles its interest. More than that, the conceit of the beholder that 
he is seeing deeper into the subject redounds in his mind to the benefit of 
the painting itself. So, as many things are seen in Browning which Brown- 
ing did not see himself, many may see in a picture what the painter did 
not see. But if the beholder thinks the painter saw it, the pleasure in the 
picture is enhanced. The artist is not at hand; others interpret for him 
without interruption. That is their pleasure and privilege. 



202 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

So far has the habit of seeing an occult, or second meaning, in pictures 
and in life in general been carried, that a school in philosophy has arisen 
to maintain that the second meaning is the more important, and the mean- 
ing for which the work or the life exists. 

The comical tendency to see the face of a man or the shape of a beast 
in some natural feature like a tree or a cliflF arises out of a subconscious 
tendency, old as the race, to look beyond and behind things for the message 
which is always being sought from the infinite. 

But who has ever explained satisfactorily the artistic revulsion from new 
things? In any landscape we demand the quality of mellowness. Why is 
it that the most surperb edifice is uninteresting, artistically, in comparison 
with an old edifice? The spick-and-span have no attraction. Is it the 
deep-down natural quest for the assistance of nature in our work? Is it the 
desire to gain dignity through age? Is it that precise order and newness 
are unnatural and so offensive? Frankly it is hard to say. But it is certain 
that an old cottage under whose shingles the vine has penetrated so as to 
admit decay and cold is interesting artistically while a new cottage is not. 

But the work of nature seldom looks new. She shows her hand rarely 
in floods and earthquakes and scars the earth by them. As a practice she 
endows every inert thing with softness and the suggestion of age. Growths 
themselves springing so naturally out of what has been, do not suggest 
newness; only freshness and beauty. 

Inevitably all men are antiquarians. True, some are more so than others. 
But the charm of the past has a place in every normal mind. This appears 
not only in art, but in laws that no longer have any use, and in the natural 
caution of our old race not to take on something we have got along pretty 
well without. Possibly our sense of the solidarity of nature, and of the 
universal and timeless relations of life that is, and with life that was and 
shall be, are reflected in our shrinking from and our depictions of any- 
thing that has not borne the test of time. 

But the final word about any art must be the admission of the mystery 
in which it is enshrouded. We may try to explain it that effort may be a 



SUGGESTED PROTECTION 205 

mark of growth, of a rising power in the mind to grasp the meaning of life. 
But there is charm in mystery. The most fascinating aspects of art are 
those which we cannot explain. There is more in art, because it is a part 
of life, than we can ever hope to understand. It is ever a picture of reality, 
and as it goes on its groping way it may rise to new understandings. 

Meantime we may joy in the sunset because it holds more than we under- 
stand j thus we may feel enriched that the universal mind of which we are 
a part is inexhaustible; that it has new beauties to be observed, new mean- 
ings to be discovered, new powers for us to wield. And these are new only 
as discoveries are new. They existed before we did. We are new to them ; 
and the pleasure of living arises from relating ourselves at as many points 
as possible with the timeless things. Thus, " art is long and time is 
fleeting." 

There would be no glory in the autumn scene we look at if in it we 
were beholding the last autumn. We know that all the color we see 
has been preserved and will be preserved by the alchemy of nature. The 
spring is the opening of an eternal succession, even as the ancient allegory 
of the Greeks saw it. 



XXXVI. SUGGESTED PROTECTION AS A 
QUALITY IN PICTURES 

AT the bottom of page G6 is a peep through trees on the Winooski, 
near Montpelier. The sense of a protection in overarching trees is 
doubtless the secret of much of their charm. One dreams of sitting under 
the boughs by this fair shore, and, safe one's self, looking out at the glory 
beyond. Thus tree branches, which doubtless formed the first roof for man, 
have never lost their charm for him. They form beneath their growth his 
natural home. 

So much of the history of our race, even to the present time, has been 
occupied with defending life that whatever savors of protection has its 



2o6 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

appeal to us. It is in our blood, like the huntsman's love of game-seeking, 
which is so rooted in many men that they annually return to it. 

Anything that forms a bower, therefore, like the birches on page 6o, ap- 
peals to the home-seeking instinct, and it is surprising when the tally of all 
the pictures we love has been made, how many depict some defensive or 
protective feature. One has only to run through the pages of this book to 
find that the pictures he likes best are marked by such features. 



XXXVII. THE LOVE OF FOUNTAINS 

ONE would like to see collected all the literature connected with foun- 
tains. In the Orient, where water is scarce, at least in the classic 
Orient, fountains play a large part in the poetry of life as well as in its 
practical side. 

The source of the brook, as that on page 83, where a forest fountain 
pours out its waters, never loses its fascination. The most impressive 
natural scene the writer remembers was the great gushing up from almost 
level ground of the springs in Florida which form a river at the fountain 
itself. The ancients built altars, as to a god, at the remarkable springs of 
the Jordan which well out from a mountain side in sudden profusion. 
It was not the only instance. The bubbling spring in the grassy meadow 
always had its almost icy cool water, so sought in haying time. Even 
modern science has failed to account for the great springs of Florida. It 
is no marvel that to the ancients springs were wholly mysterious. Yet 
their mystery was not fearful, but beneficent. Apparently the deity who 
controlled the water wished well to his worshippers. Purity and con- 
stancy and plenty were among his attributes. Health sat at the margin of 
the pool, and verdure drank in life there. Fountains were not only temple 
sites, but springs of the Muses. 




^MiLyumi,, 




GOOD THINGS PREPARED 209 

XXXVIII. GOOD THINGS PREPARED 

ON page 91 is a little old abandoned cottage among the apple trees. 
It is an ideal site for a homestead. Why was it ever abandoned? 
The Yankee has not the Celtic love for his home acres. The Teutonic 
people ever had roving feet. Yet here in this joyous nest between apple 
boughs, in rich luscious grass, in near view of noble hills, by a streamside, 
in a fertile valley, not far from a market town, is this abandoned para- 
dise. The Bible represents our first parents as driven out from bliss. 
Their descendents have been worse than they. For we have not known 
enough to abide in paradise when she cradled us and crooned to us, and 
spread her enchantments about us. Wherever they have wandered, who 
were born in this forsaken home, they have reached nothing as beautiful, 
nothing better capable of nourishing a full and sweet life. Sometime 
some gifted soul will tell the story of this dumb house, and unfold the 
procession of history in which the edifice has had part. 

Men go into forbidding regions where nature is grudging, where the 
endless dry prairies stretch their monotonous lengths before one. With- 
out timber, without stone, surrounded by weed the only material for their 
architecture, they found new homes, afar from what they love and know. 
They live in naturally treeless regions, without variety, without any 
known history, without the benefits of an old society. And then they 
call their existence life. There is more of sentiment, of beauty, of profit 
even, in the old home acre than in the new. The soft pines call them back, 
the brook complains of their absence. 

We must presume that men know what they seek in life, and therefore 
that the location of their homes is a deliberate choice. To be sure most 
men must live where they can thrive. But back of all this is the possibility, 
nay even probability that vast numbers of men are deceived as to what 
furnishes the better things of life. It is conceivable that some men may 
dwell, and cause their wives to dwell, in tawdry or dreary surroundings 
owing to the hope of greater gain. But such persons are gaining only a 



2IO VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

little bit of the world and losing their own souls. Is not the first question 
for a young husband and wife, where can we rear healthy children, and 
surround them so that they may grow in the best knowledge? 

The fact that millions of children are growing up in filthy city streets, 
dodging, sometimes successfully, the motor truck, is proof that millions 
are careless of their offspring. Such parents plainly say, " We love other 
things better than our children's welfare." The person who chooses four 
rooms on a third floor for his family rather than a cottage outlook such 
as is shown either on page 91 or page 92 is either of low mentality or low 
morality. One who prefers to walk home after work through filth, and 
between hot walls rather than on such roads as fork on page 103 may think 
he is sane, but is he? If he prefers to gaze on a blank wall rather than on 
a river valley such as page 108 shows there is something wrong with him. 
Whatever it is it is costing him too much to live as he lives. 



XXXIX. PICTURES OF FLOWERS 

TT TE have lately noted a revival of the fashion which placed pictures 
~ ' of flowers in dining rooms. It is a good sign of an increasing love 
of flowers. Masses of fine color such as pictures of that sort furnish are 
the next best thing to the flowers themselves. For the pictures provide 
constant and unfading beauty. 

Floral wall papers have long been in fashion — too long. The repeti- 
tion on a wall of hundreds of identical floral decorations is enough to 
madden anybody, not to confine our thought to artists. It is far better, 
if the wall is such that it must be covered, to paint it or to paper it in a 
neutral tint and then to place floral groups here and there like panels. 
Thus a repetition of the same thing is avoided, and one is induced to at- 
tend to the particular beauty of one group after another. 

This subject might be enlarged profitably by a consideration of wall 
papers in general, did space serve. At least let us say, let no fad be followed. 




m 



PICTURES OF FLOWERS 213 

merely because it is a fad. The reason often given for covering walls with 
paper is that it is desired to make the home cheerful! Any normal mind 
is eflFected by the result with anything but cheerfulness. Or, one will 
say, " We have put old fashioned papers on our walls," with the emphasis 
on the " old." 

In the present return to many of the tastes and customs of our ancestors 
the superficial person has often missed the point entirely. For the sane, 
the praiseworthy fashion is of course to return to the old fashion merely 
as it had charm, or merit, or any thing worthy in it. For nothing is good 
merely for its age. We have heard of two or three instances where plumb- 
ing was omitted from old or restored old houses, because " They did not 
have plumbing in those days! " 

Unless the fashion of reviving the past is to be marked with some dis- 
crimination it will soon lose credit, and will deserve to do so. 

There are, let us be frank, many old customs which we cannot too soon, 
or too completely forget. The charm and worth of modern life will consist 
in the discrimination with which it selects the best of the past and incorpo- 
rates it in the present. 

Some raise the question whether incongruity and bad taste may not result 
from such a selection. The incongruity and bad taste consists in mixing 
various forms of architecture or alleged architecture, in one building, and 
placing in one room, furniture of several periods or of no period at all. 

A consistent old fashioned interior is easily attained without the incon- 
veniences of the past, and without adopting all the old-time decoration. 
For a wall covered with wood is a still older form of finish than a wall 
covered with paper. At best paper is a poor and mean makeshift, and when 
first used it frankly admitted itself to be a substitution for something better. 
This appears in the panels in wall papers of the earliest sort, in which 
wooden panels are imitated. Of course the landscape paper, as it can- 
not too often be said, was for the use of persons who could not afford 
pictures. So far is that fact forgotten, that pictures are very generally 
seen placed over figured wall paper — a practice in very bad taste, unless 



214 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

the figures are small and unobtrusive in color. The obvious reason for 
hanging a picture is to aflFord pleasure or instruction, or both. So pictures 
are hung — and sometimes executed — by every household. 

But the eye is confused by mixed colors surrounding a picture, and still 
more is it confused if picture is overlaid on picture. The excellent rea- 
son for surrounding water colors with wide, quiet margins is to enhance 
the effect of the water colors. The first object, therefore of a housewife 
in Vermont or elsewhere, is to avoid multiplicity of details on any wall, or 
indeed anywhere in or around her home. 

The call of good taste is for emphasis on something good and worth while. 
Therefore we must have fewer and better objects on our walls and our 
floors. Overloaded horses have a redress, sometimes, in a society organized 
to protect them. Overloaded houses have no legal means of relief. We re- 
member one parlor wall — and it was one of the most beautiful wainscot 
walls in America — on which, on one side of a room, over fifty objects 
were hung, drawn, or quartered. The effect was distressing, but not to the 
owner, who had indulged what she spoke of as her own taste. In the 
same room, on another wall, was one very large and exquisite family por- 
trait done by a master. Here the owner had before her eyes continually 
a good and a bad, and she was the author of the bad and liked it. Is it 
remarkable that some despair of educating the people in good taste? In the 
instance quoted — in respect to culture far from a probable reader of this 
book — the family was old and distinguished. They had thought it worth 
while to be educated in everything good, except in those things always 
nearest and most obvious — their walls and their furniture. 

Good pictures are expensive, it is said, and therefore the advice given 
above is impracticable to most people. No; steel engravings and many other 
good engravings are very inexpensive. Even water colors in good taste, 
if confined, we will say, to floral representations need not be expensive. 
Many housewives have themselves decorated their walls very prettily and 
without offending persons of fastidious taste. 

Sometimes wall papers are encouraged on the score of their cleanliness. 



GARDEN ARRANGEMENT 217 

But a painted wall surpasses them in this respect. Wall paper to be kept 
fresh must be renewed. A painted wall of plaster or of wood, whether 
painted or not, may be washed whenever the housewife desires. And if 
it is not washed for years it is yet more cleanly and more sanitary than 
wall paper. Still, the objection to wall paper is mostly overcome if plain 
paper, or paper scarce removed from plainness, is used. Then a few pic- 
tures, wall cupboards, or boxes; an old chart or map, an early print, may 
serve to give interest and dignity and warmth to a house. 



XL. GARDEN ARRANGEMENT 

IN a book dealing mostly with rural life some attention should properly 
be paid to gardens. 

The first principle of the lady of the house in Vermont, must often be 
conservation of time. For this reason she should choose for the most 
part for her garden those flowers which renew themselves annually, and 
those flowers which are hardy enough to survive severe winters. Thus 
her labors will be lightened; for it will be noticed we are presuming, as it 
is safe to do, that most of the flower garden labors fall to women. Men 
are not persuaded unless they are florists, that a flower garden is important. 
The exceptions to this statement lament the rtde. 

In the arrangement of a garden the path — there is generally but one — 
is the natural focus. On its borders may be grouped rows of small flowers, 
to be followed in their rear by others of higher growth so that one row 
may offset or reinforce another. In a little house-garden any effort at 
landscape effects is unnecessary. Formality may be encouraged in a small 
garden, though, to us at least, it becomes a bore in a large garden. If in- 
stead of a grouping of all the flowers together one chooses to cultivate 
clumps of flowers against old boulders, or along fence rows, the result 
is often more pleasing. Such an arrangement tends to enlarge the general 
aspect of beauty about a home. 



21 8 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

" Old fashioned flowers " is an amusing term. Of course we under- 
stand what it means. But fortunately He who makes flowers grow does 
not distinguish between old and new. There is an eternity in every 
flower however ephemeral its bloom may be. 

That thought brings to our mind another: that those flowers are to be 
preferred which have a long blooming season. Carelessness about choice 
may result in a dull garden during most of the summer. Cosmos is de- 
servedly popular because its gay and abundant bloom extends away be- 
yond any ordinary early frost, and by a little protection it may even go 
on to very severe frost. Thus one should choose some of the first flowers 
that bloom, like the crocuses, and by judicious selection make the whole 
summer bright. If a quarter of the garden blooms at once, and the bloom 
is somewhat distributed, an ample array of blossoms is provided, for 
solid color or universal colors in a garden are as much to be avoided as 
elsewhere. 

It has been said, perhaps by wise men, that nervous or lonely women 
have their balance and serenity restored by garden attendance. Where is 
the mother or the daughter of the house more beautiful than among her 
flowers, herself the most beaming and attractive of them all? 

There are some women who can hardly be content without flowers the 
year through. For such there is joy in life, and a fullness that cannot 
otherwise come into the heart. 

In a cold climate like Vermont a garden is especially valued. Flowers 
are loved there more than in regions where they flourish most of the year. 
The garden is eagerly thought of in the late spring, and is a delight all 
the greater because it is long in coming. 



A VISIT TO MT. MANSFIELD 221 

XLI. A VISIT TO MT. MANSFIELD 

WE made the ascent of Mt. Mansfield some years ago before the 
advent of the motor car. The kind people of St. Johnsbury had told 
us we must go to Stowe and there we would find the wagons to take us up 
the mountain. We imagined that Stowe lay snuggled at its base, and 
that mountain guides and wagons could be had in plenty. But reality often 
differs from pictures in the brain. After a rattling ride from Morrisville 
in a well-filled wagonette we drew up before the inn door in Stowe only 
to receive the inhospitable information, " All wagons for the day left for 
Mt. Mansfield an hour ago." And Mt. Mansfield itself, instead of hanging 
in a protecting, fatherly fashion about the village farms, lay placidly off 
in the distance, five miles, they said, like a giant asleep on his back. In 
fact there is so much resemblance between the outline of the mountain and 
a prostrate human figure, especially the face, that prominent parts of the 
mountain have been named The Forehead, The Nose, The Chin. 

How to reach this sleeping giant we did not know, unless we walked. 
As our time was limited it was not wise to spend the night at the inn and 
wait for a wagon next day. But if we walked to the foot of the mountain, 
we felt we would be too tired for the four hours' climb necessary to reach 
the summit. When our gloom was darkest the proverbial ray of light ap- 
peared in the shape of a blue-coated man, who, for a good round sum, 
offered to drive us to the mountain and there leave us to find our way to 
the top by following the wagon road. 

We were hungry, but there was no time for dinner. We must be on 
our way at once, we were told, or darkness would overtake us on the steep 
mountain side. We looked off to the land of our journey and found it 
thickly wooded. Lost in the mountains among the tall trees not seeming 
an agreeable fate, we hastily purchased bananas, sweet chocolate, and 
crackers, climbed into the carry-all which our blue-coated friend had pro- 
vided, and made a brisk dash toward the wooded height. 

Note, The accompanying sketch is written by an admirer of Vermont who signs the initial "H." 

The Author 



222 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

At the last house at the foot of the mountain we left our luggage to be 
picked up by the man who carried the express to the summit. Then gaily 
bidding adieu to our driver, we tied our sweaters about our waists, picked 
up some suitable sticks, entered the wooded road, and began our climb. 

The first thing we noticed was that it was hotj the next, that we could 
see nothing of the wonderful views we had expected. Up, up, we went, 
but the encircling trees hid the landscape. The road was rough, and we 
soon tired. Should we ever reach the top? Nature was kind, however, 
and at climbing intervals of about twenty minutes provided us with a 
spring. Here we would halt — drop down in fact — eat of our hastily 
collected food-store, drink the cool water, bathe our faces in it, and wonder 
what next. So the afternoon wore away, and feeling more and more the 
strain on our muscles and the weariness of exertion, we thought only of 
the hours of rest which should be ours when the hotel at the top of the 
mountain was reached. 

But suddenly we came out of the woods, and the view burst upon us! 
Green sunny peaks were everywhere; beautiful clouds were filling, spread- 
ing, then filling again and floating majestically aloft; while away in the 
distance loomed the Presidential Range — Mt. Washington, Mt. Adams, 
Mt. JeflFerson, Mt. Madison — among the White Hills of New Hamp- 
shire! All thoughts of rest vanished, all weariness oozed away, and filled 
with exhilaration excited by the beauty of the scene and the patriotic ap- 
peal of mountain names and pride of belonging to a country so grand, we 
rushed to the simple hostelry which stood among the rocks, secured a 
room for the night and went forth to explore. 

Never had we thought the old giant lying on his back, as we had seen 
him from the valley of Stowe, could have so much beauty in store for us! 
We walked on and on for miles. We perched on crags, we wandered over 
crooked footpaths and crouched in terror at strange booming noises. As 
the region was totally unknown to us, we wondered if wild beasts lurked 
behind the rocks, and what made the low-growing hemlocks wave with so 
much agitation. We peered about cautiously, looking for shining eyes 



A VISIT TO MT. MANSFIELD 225 

among the shrubs j we listened again, and the boom! boom! sounded more 
ominous than ever. But no .wild animal came from a secret hiding place j 
no lions or tigers sprung across our path. Then it was we discovered the 
top of the mountain was full of caves, and that the wind clutching at 
their dark throats, and roaring pitiless threats into their unimpressive ears, 
was responsible for our fright. 

But it was after our late dinner that the true magnificence of the scene 
came to us and we felt fully repaid for our long climb of several hours 
before. Mt. Mansfield is more than four thousand feet high, and one of 
its highest points, called The Nose, is not far from The Summit House. 
Just as the sun was making his adieux to the western world, we climbed the 
crags that make The Nose and watched the panorama before us. Miles 
away, but seemingly close at our feet, lay Lake Champlain, pulsing with 
rosy lights, and beyond were the Adirondacks, range on range, beckoning 
to the almost illimitable stretches that lay between us and the Golden 
Gate of our Pacific shores. Wondrous clouds floated, like Islands of the 
Blessed, in a sea of opalescent tints. To float with them into Eternal 
Peace seemed easy and natural. The long sigh which came with the 
purple twilight was a high tribute to the beauty we had seen. When we 
closed our eyes to sleep that night it was with the thought that our cup 
was really too full, for we should see the sun rise in the morning! 

But alas-and-alack-a-day ! The sun never rose at all! As if Nature 
felt she had allowed us enough pleasure for one visit she drew a cloud of 
mist over the whole mountain. When we awoke a drizzling rain was fall- 
ing, and not an object ,was visible twenty feet from the hotel door. No 
wagons would venture up or down the mountain on a day like this. The 
thermometer had fallen to forty degrees, men and women shivered in 
what wraps they could furnish and huddled disconsolately about a little 
iron stove in the plain living room. We were marooned on the mountain 
for an indefinite period. Then it was that man turned to contemplate his 
brother, and blotted-out crag and sky were forgotten in tales of human 
interest. 



226 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

The night before at our table had sat a man of waxen complexion who 
had given not a glance at the excellent dinner which was being served, 
but had asked the waiter for a quart of hot milk. A quart of hot milk 
on the top of Mt. Mansfield! Now it seems that the milk supply of the 
hotel came mainly from one cow, which browsed among the low bushes and 
made pleasant echoes among the rocks as the tongue of her metallic bell 
swung heavily while she snatched her scanty sustenance. A quart of milk 
to one man! At that rate how could each guest be properly supplied? The 
waiter stood aghast, but the gourmand took a small cake of uncooked, com- 
pressed cereals from his pocket and assured his provider that that was all 
he would have to eat unless the milk was forth coming. Doctor's orders! 
Forth came the milk. And now on this misty day, when it was impossible 
to leave the hotel as he had expected, the cakes of grain had given out and 
the cow was lost in the fog. Poor man! We listened with sympathy to 
his accounts of doctor's orders and to the tale of a gain of twenty pounds 
in two months on the diet prescribed, but secretly we were pleased to see 
him obliged to eat chicken at the mid-day meal, and no doubt secretly he 
was pleased himself to think the hardships of travel had reduced him to 
such straits! 

The man and his party were planning to visit Smuggler's Notch, not 
many miles away, as soon as the sun shone again. Here we were told the 
cliffs rose one thousand feet and had looked down on many a deed of 
darkness and daring. For during the War of 1 8 1 2 with England, and the 
days of the Embargo Act which preceded it, some Vermonters took the law 
into their own hands and traded with Canada as they saw fit. Their boats 
came down Lake Champlain, ran up the entering rivers sometimes, unloaded 
their goods, and then other smugglers took the merchandise across the 
country. Vermont was very sparsely settled at that time, and party feeling 
in opposition to the war ran high. In fact all New England opposed the 
war as contrary to its commercial interests, but Vermont was better sit- 
uated for romantic deeds than some parts of the country. Someone 
spoke of the famous Black Snake, the smuggling boat that was finally 



A VISIT TO MT. MANSFIELD 229 

captured up the Winooskij someone spoke of cattle thieves and their ad- 
ventures with the officers of the law; someone spoke of Vermont's heroes 
in the war and all agreed that these far outnumbered the few lawless 
citizens who had plotted and planned in Smuggler's Notch. 

All the time we were talking a grave looking man with fine features sat 
silently by himself in a corner and seemed not to hear a word. Rumor 
said he was a famous judge who seldom spoke outside the courtroom. 
He made yearly visits to the little hostelry on the top of Mt. Mansfield 
and seemed to be content with the beauty of the views and in no need of 
human society. Day wore on into evening. Card tables were brought 
out and some forgot the cold and dreariness of their surroundings in watch- 
ing for kings, queens, and aces. Some continued to talk, but the silent 
man did not notice. We passed him with a bit of awe as we said good- 
night to the company and mounted the stairs to our sleeping quarters. 
Though speech is silvern, silence is often golden, and we wondered if we 
had not erred in our much talking with strangers. But the time would 
have passed drearily indeed had nobody said anything. 

The next morning seeming as gray as the day before we resolved not to 
get up at all but to ward oflF the chill by staying in bed. Disconsolately 
we turned our faces into our pillows and tried to sleep, only to be soon 
roused by a shouting, a commotion, and a quick awakening to the fact 
that we had surrendered too soon to despair. The storm was over, the 
sun shining, and the world once more was ours! A glance from our win- 
dow showed the glory and grandeur of the mountain scenery in even more 
loveliness than before. Fellow tourists were shouting excitedly to us from 
the rocks below; the hemlocks were glistening in the clear light; the cow- 
bell was tinkling cheerfully near at hand. With all haste we rushed into 
the out-of-doors and hurried to a point of vantage. 

The clouds that had settled on us the day before, drenching us with mist, 
were now lying below us a half mile down the mountain side. As we 
looked they began to break, and lift, and float out over the world at our 
feet. To one who had never seen this phenomenon before, as we had not, 



230 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

the sight was thrilling and inspiring. Like wraiths the mists curled and 
gathered in the hollows, then floated off towards the sun as if to offer 
praise. Sometimes they collected in large masses and spread out for miles, 
then rose and broke again as though ashamed of the selfishness that would 
hide from us the beautiful landscape. So gathering, rising, breaking, 
floating off into the blue, the cloud fairies held us entranced until at last 
all disappeared and left us so full of joy at the loveliness of our sur- 
roundings that we rebelled strongly at the thought of leaving it, as we 
knew we must. As a last goodby we wandered once more among the wind- 
haunted caves and listened to their booming music; once more we fol- 
lowed winding paths and discovered objects we had missed before; once 
more we climbed The Nose and looked out toward Champlain; once more 
we turned towards Smuggler's Notch and its romantic haunts. Our two 
days had been full of interest. Should we ever come again to this spot? 
We would be foolish or most unfortunate did we not; and next time we 
would plan to spend weeks instead of days in the region. 

So great was the hold of the mountain upon us that when we left that 
afternoon we walked the first two miles of the downward road and allowed 
the stage to overtake us. By doing this we could pause when a break in 
the trees gave us a bit of rapture, or when something interesting caught 
our attention. We could examine the stones and mosses, pick the occasional 
flower and fill our lungs at will with the purest of pure air. There was no 
apprehension in this downward journey, as there had been in our ascent. 
We were carrying back with us the memory of broad views and grand 
summits, and we were happy. 



XLIL OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 

A SMALL work with the above title was prepared by the author, de- 
signed for rich illustration in color. But after about a dozen copies 
had been issued it was thought best to withdraw it from the market and 



OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 233 

to publish certain of its contents in this more popular form. The text of 
this earlier work is used through the title " The Time of Day." 

THE HEARTH 

Since men discovered how to make a fire the hearth has been the center 
of their lives. Every human generation except one has sat about the 
hearth at evening. The last generation " escaped " it — a doubtful mark 
of progress. Our ancestors got their food, warmth and light from the 
hearth. Hundreds of our lineal ancestors crawled before an open fire, 
and after the mother's breast that fire was their first mystery. It taught 
their first lesson in self restraint. Their gaze from the day that they first 
" took notice " till they were bent and senile was for some part of every 
day into the fascinating, soothing, alluring glow of the fireplace. Human- 
ity was born close by the fire, and passed away from the fire into the unseen 
world. Love and lore began at the fireside. It was the symbol of comfort- 
and aflFection and cheer. It was the spot where sacred and secular met. 

Fire was a precious thing. Our own grandfathers sometimes went miles 
in winter, through deep snows, to " borrow fire " when they had neglected 
to keep their coals alive. With wet wood it was easier to borrow than to 
use the flint and steel. A hearth without glowing coals was the sign of 
desolation. The aboriginal crawling naked before the fireplace loved it no 
less than did the king's son. 

SAGAS OF THE FIRELIGHT 

It was at evening or in bitter winter storms that the children crept be- 
tween grandpa's knees and listened to the sagas of long ago, while the 
weird firelight played on their awestruck little faces. Before writing, his- 
tory was perpetuated by stories handed down from father to son of the 
deeds of their fathers, which, we may be sure, lost nothing in the telling. 
Demigods got their shape by the firelight, as their great figures were out- 
lined by the reverend grandsire, and the monstrous leaping shadows in 



234 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

the dark corners of the room lent reality and fascinating horror to their 
substantial ghosts. " Tell me a story " is the first popular demand for 
literature, for history if it were forthcoming, but at any rate for a story 
that must be told with sufficient art to seem real. 

At first the grandfather, his activities circumscribed to hovering before 
the blaze, kept himself to the general and recent history of the family. 
But the tune was soon demanded with variations. Details were added to 
supply the demand. Alluring side paths were followed. A new adventure 
must be supplied to give coherence, and fill up the gaps. 

Old Homer tried his tale first, we may be sure, at the fireside on his 
own grandsons. As his hand swept the strings and gained confidence the 
neighbors gathered around. That was a theatre for you! What were 
Mrs. Siddons and her train compared with the great black but glowing 
background of the stone fireplace in the ancient hall, the grand old harper, 
and the eager Greek faces turned toward him, while the roof returned 
the falling echoes of " the good old times." 

Literature is the weaving of fact and imagination into a texture of 
beauty and coherence. What subtler stimulus of imagination than this 
same crinkling spark-chase over the surface of the back log and the little 
flames spitting from the crevasses of the fagots! Any man is a poet when 
he muses by the glowing hearth. Literature got its proper cantos by the 
fireside. The tale, for unity's sake, must reach its climax in an evening, 
before the bright eyes of the listeners glazed with languor, and so as the 
blaze died down, the story drew to an end, leaving only a suggestive 
question unanswered, to serve as a beginning for the next saga night. 

Or it was a story of true love in distress? In the half shadow behind 
the narrator a strong young hand would reach out for that of a coy maid, 
and by the fire grew a love and loyalty reaching its fitting culmination 
when the youth led home the maiden to keep his hearth alight and to rear 
a new generation. 

There was also a beginning of state-craft by the hearth. The council 
fires of savage and sage witnessed the gathering of chiefs and elders to 
form the policies of war and peace. 



OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 237 

In later times it was the love light that suggested to invention ways of 
bettering the fireplace. When America was settled men built ovens in 
the backs of the fireplaces. In these ovens the fire which was started had 
no separate flues but blazed forth from the open oven doors and found 
its way up the great chimney. Then the ashes were cleared and the baking 
done in the same cavity. It was an afterthought of some good man to 
relieve his wife from hovering over the hot blaze on the main hearth to 
superintend her baking. He therefore built an oven at the side of the 
fireplace with a subordinate flue leading into the great chimney. 

THE HANGING OF THE CRANE 

In the older American fireplaces there was no crane, but a tough pole 
fixed above the blaze on lugs at each side of the opening. To test the 
savory kettle of broth the housewife must lean over the flame. Some 
good man, who wished to save the fair face of his wife from this ordeal, 
invented a crane on which the pot could be swung out and filled, tried, 
or emptied at leisure. So the " hanging of the crane " came to mean 
the setting up of a new family. 

The pot hooks were made of different lengths to bring the vessels 
within a proper distance of the fire. The flat shovel used in passing the 
mince pies and bean pots into the oven was called a slice. The warming 
pan was filled with coals and moved about between cold sheets for the 
benefit of guests or invalids, the hardy not requiring or at least not ad- 
mitting the need of such artificial aids. There was attached to the ceil- 
ing a long pole or two, on which was hung the ironing to air before being 
stored in drawers strewn with lavender. 

In my boyhood we possessed an ancient single ox-yoke, which had been 
used on " Old Star " (an ox so called from the white spot on his forehead) 
to drag into the kitchen the great back log. It was of course impossible to 
drive a pair of oxen through the narrow doors, but probably the neat mother 
thought the one great beast enough — almost a bull in a china shop! And 
the log was usually well coated with snow or ice! 



238 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

In later times the genius of the brothers Adam in England and their 
grateful imitators here, made the fireplace what it deserved to be, the 
center of home decoration, and today as one tours through the back country 
one may often come upon a ruinous dwelling with a fireplace well worth 
negotiating for. 

It was natural that the parlor fireplace should receive the best skill of 
the local carpenter. Above it the chimney drew in, leaving the room for 
cupboards where the family treasures were stored. 

It was not unusual for a fireplace to be seven or eight feet broad. 
This generation has mistaken the meaning of " the chimney corner." It 
was not a corner of the room near the chimney but a side of the fireplace 
itself within which the grandfather sat, on those milder days when only a 
portion of the hearth was required for the fire. A fireplace in Warwick, 
Rhode Island, was so large that three sets of andirons had their place 
within it, in a row, and the black oak beam which formed the lintel was 
nineteen inches through and so hard, from generations of slow roasting, 
that it was impossible to drive into it the point of a knife. Many a fire- 
place was as high as a man's shoulder, and the stars could be seen by peering 
upward. 

Santa Claus could easily descend such a chimney, though his proportions 
were as generous as the children were led to believe. 

There is, could we know it, a legend and a romance connected with 
every old fireplace. The spot is full of sentiment and symbolism. There 
were other festoons than simple strings of dried apple and pumpkin hung 
about the wide chimney-piece. There twined the tendrils of many fond 
memories, and there sat the dear ghosts of other years. 

In some houses there was an enlargement made in the chimney, at the 
second story, and a narrow door admitted to a stone floored chamber 
where the meats from the Christmas killing were hung to cure and smoke, 
and were never removed from their nails till wanted for use. 

In some instances the great chimney contained secret cupboards or even 
stairs where the wife might hide if attacked by the Indians. 



OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 241 

There were often, in the larger houses, seven or eight fireplaces, grouped 
around a single chimney, on two floors. 

The more pretentious homes had more than one chimney — the regular 
number in a really good house of 1790 being four, two at each end built 
into the brick end of the house. Hence many old houses are seen with 
brick ends, and fronts and backs of wood. Thus a household was " between 
two fires " — one at each side room facing the great hall. The outsides 
of the rooms in the case of one chimney only, were very cold, and in 
bitter weather, there was a frost line on the floor, part way between the 
hearth and the outside wall. Whittier's " Snow Bound " gives us many 
details of the old life. 

It was necessary to keep the cellars nearly at the point of freezing, be- 
cause the year's stock of vegetables was stored there. Apples stored in a 
dark, cold, and somewhat damp cellar kept till spring without wilting, 
and the winter evenings were beguiled by a row of this unrivaled fruit 
toasting before the blaze, and turned by the expectant children. For their 
elders a jug of cider, also home made, simmered by the side of the hearth. 

In the earliest days a spit for the great meat roasts was contrived, at 
first turned by boy-power, until an ingenious and perspiring young Ameri- 
can arranged a dog-power and secured his liberty at the expense of his 
humble companion. 

The bannocks were baked on a smooth sheet of iron, or even of wood, 
set on the hearth slantwise to the blaze. Doubtless the dreadful Ameri- 
can appetite for hot bread descends from those days. 

OCCUPATIONS OF THE FIRESIDE 

Besides the apples to watch and the cider to warm, there was corn to 
pop or parch. Our fathers learned from the Indians how to use parched 
corn. The kernels that did not pop were brayed in a mortar and carried on 
hunting trips. Enough for many days' supply could thus be kept at hand, 
superior to our breakfast foods and ready to eat at any brookside. The 
popped corn was a favorite dish with milk. Corn was of course as new to 



242 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

our ancestors as to their children. The lives of the first comers were saved 
by buying or borrowing from the Indians. While corn was inferior to 
wheat its yield per acre was greater, and it was easier to cultivate and care 
for, requiring no mill or tedious baking. For these reasons corn is still 
popular in the poorer parts of our country. The mountaineers of the 
Appalachians still use it in the simple manner of our ancestors. Indeed 
if one wishes to know how the early English settlers lived he has only 
to go into a mountain home, where he will find the same utensils, articles 
of diet, and domestic habits that marked our fathers. 

The hand-loom, the flax-wheel and the wool spinning-wheel, the hand- 
hetchels and cards for flax and wool provided all that was required for the 
wear of every member of the family. The grandmother knit all the stock- 
ings, mittens, scarfs, and hoods. 

The cheese press and the churn, the mortar, and often a cobbler's bench 
stood along the wall. If an ingenious member of the family did not make 
the footwear, an itinerant cobbler came as a guest until he had fitted out 
the family for the year. 

THE VERSATILITY OF THE SETTLER 

Every farm was a factory and a university. There was nothing nec- 
essary to the comfort of human life that was not raised or made at home, 
except salt. Hats from their own straw j brooms from their own broom 
corn 5 and rushes for the kitchen floors, cut in their own swamp. For 
their woodwork, linseed oil from their own flax 5 to render their boots 
waterproof and supple, neatsfoot oil from their own cattle. Feathers from 
their own geese supplied soft beds and pillows necessary in the unwarmed 
rooms of a cold winter. Maple furniture, either the beautiful bird's-eye or 
the plain wood, was hard and strong, and when men required even greater 
strength there was oak. The supple ash made their fork and ax handles j 
the birch was as beautiful as mahogany, and as a wood to burn it was the 
perfect poetry of a blaze. If a great wall had been built around the 
home and acres of a pioneer, he would not have felt any lack of food or 
raiment. 



OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 245 

It was the variety of his occupations that broadened the mind of a 
settler. A man who can do anything is somebody, and has learned to 
think. A woman who has clothed and fed her own household has a 
strength and dignity impossible to a mere poseur. A man who can carve 
a forest can build a state. 

The almost miraculous burst of inventive genius that appeared in 
America is to be traced to the putting of so many good minds to doing such 
varied tasks. A high class of laborers invents labor-saving devices. If 
modern division of labor proceeds too far it will narrow the laborer more 
than it will help the labor. If necessity is the mother of invention, the 
people who find everything supplied for them will not invent. 

Our fathers digged their wells and wanted a refrigerator. One farmer 
made a recess half-way down in his well and there stored the summer's 
butter for the winter. This remarkable well is in South Woodstock, Ver- 
mont. The water in a deep well is not very much above freezing. 

PATCHWORK. QUILTS 

These old quilts are not merely an ornamental covering for the bed. 
They are also a mosaic of affection. See here a bit of calico that was in 
Bessie's first apron; and here is a piece of silk from grandmother's wed- 
ding gown; that is a relic of Jimmie's first pinafore; this square was from 
your Uncle Eli's flowered waistcoat. Handle the old quilt reverently, 
for every triangle in it marks the laughs or tears or prayers of another 
generation. 

The quilting frame was sustained at the corners by chairs or tables, 
and the good women of the village gathered for the quilting bee. Reached 
out side by side over the odd patterns were the gnarled red hands of years 
of labor and the soft white fingers of young girlhood. The corners were 
cut out to fit around the big old bed-posts, and domestic art achieved its 
triumphs in the arrangement of the quaint pieces in attractive designs. 

The fair hands of those days also wove the lovely blue-checked counter- 
panes which have come down to us. Some of them are now deemed worthy 



246 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

of the state chambers of persons high in place. Their colors were always 
soft and harmonious. Alas! we are in danger of losing some of the old 
arts as we gain new ones. I have sought long for some one skilled in 
drawing in the old testers that crowned the canopies of the high posters. 

THE FOOD OF THE FATHERS 

This was the biggest question they had to face. They did not land 
in a region where nature was especially bountiful. It was an ancient joke 
that the seed must be shot into the ground from a gun, and the sheep's 
noses were sharp, working in between the rocks. 

One family in New England has picked rocks for eight generations from 
the same farm. Literal millions of pebbles or boulders line the roadsides 
and field divisions. But whenever a plough cuts the sod it turns up a new 
rocky harvest. Many old farms raised nothing to spare but boys. The 
food question at once swallowed up every other. 

Corn was hand-ground until a mill could be set up. The simplest and 
best form of corn bread was made by adding merely salt and water to 
the meal and spreading a very thin mixture on a board before the fire. 
This diet is guaranteed to cure any digestive derangement! It is almost 
the best food. But the corn must have all its sweetness, and the meal 
must be kept in very small parcels so as not to heat and lose its delicious 
flavor. Rye was later mixed with corn meal and the result was what I 
used to hear called Rhine-Injun — being, I supposed, some species of 
European red man. Great was my astonishment to find it spelled " rye an' 
Injun." This mixture was made into brown bread and baked in the big 
ovens to go with beans. 

By a kind provision of Providence beans will grow on the poorest soil 
so that " bean land " is the worst name to call a field. It is a sad provin- 
cialism to suppose baked beans peculiar to New England. On the Lake 
of Galilee the men who row for tourists all day and for fish all night, 
make their meal of beans and a flapjack — the latter pulled in a roll 
from the pocket. Beans have been found, chemically and experimentally, 




. 6 i. -f ,■■'■„. 




OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 249 

to contain more nutriment than any other form of food, being far superior 
to meat. Yet our fathers did not eat beans more than eight or, at most, fif- 
teen times a week ! The new beans came on Saturday night. The pot went 
back into the big oven so that with the bread, breakfast was piping hot 
Sunday morning. Many wonder how the family kept awake at church. 
After they had driven through the storm and took their seats in an edifice 
without any heat except from the pulpit, our fathers felt the need of 
something warming within, and beans are a steady six-hour fire, without 
replenishing. It is true that, in August, somnolence might mar the perfect 
peace of the church, but at any rate nobody was prematurely hungry for 
dinner. The beans came on warmed up for Monday morning and noon. 
As a rule the wives restricted their use to two of the daily meals, but where 
the boys were specially fond of beans they were sometimes allowed a few 
for supper and between meals. A real New Englander never tires of 
beans. He knows that be the cost of living what it may, the nation is safe 
while the bean holds out to burn. Of course, when the uninitiated eat 
beans and sit down at once to write poetry they may produce lame meter. 
They should know that milking and feeding ten cows before breakfast and 
similar light exercises afterwards should precede their poetic effusions. It 
is well known that America's great lights in poetry were reared in beandom. 
Without beans, no Whittier, Longfellow, Lowell, Holmes, or Emerson. 
Beans would be had for a French gentleman. For a New Englander, roll- 
ing logs, pulling stumps, riving boulders, and ploughing out roads and 
arguing on predestination, beans were the ideal diet, and nothing will be 
invented to displace them from supremacy. As string beans early in the 
season, or cranberry beans in midsummer or bean porridge in the spring — 
what could rival their infinite variety? 

They were cooked with a piece of salt pork and required no other season- 
ing except vinegar from the barrel of soured cider, made from the natural 
fruit of the orchard. 

In the autumn and winter a barrel of salt pork and another of corned 
beef was packed — or more if the family were large. The hams were hung 



250 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

in the chimney or smoke-house. The odds and ends made mince-meat. 
In using all without waste, modern scientific meat-packers could teach our 
fathers nothing. 

The doughnuts were fried either in lard or suet. A suet pudding had 
honor. Our fathers learned to use vegetables much more largely than in 
England. The quick hot summers were favorable to most sorts. A vege- 
table hash, with a slice of corned beef, was a dish for great men. The dice 
of red beets, yellow turnips and white potatoes helped, with the bright- 
checkered aprons and " linsey-woolsey " about the board, to give a fine 
bright air of color. 

The milkweed supplied unrivalled greens. Dandelions brightened every 
dooryard. The mustard grew by the back window. In the " cut-down " 
(where the trees had been felled) sprang up the most luscious blackberries, 
raspberries, and strawberries. An occasional bear disputed possession of 
these dainties, and it was found feasible at times to send a young man along 
with Priscilla to protect her — from the bear hugs. She could always 
fill her basket first — her basket which she had made, or bartered to ob- 
tain it from an Indian. The elderberry made a famous wine, and before 
tallow became plenty the bayberry supplied candles. 

Fish and venison relieved the fare of sameness. The cod was an early 
source of wealth, and was called the " Cape Ann Turkey." A salt cod 
always hung in the cellar-way so that unexpected guests could not sur- 
prise the home without a substantial reserve. The eloquence of New Eng- 
land politicians and clergymen has been traced by some to the quantities 
of smoked, pickled and fresh tongue which they devoured. When we add 
that calves' brains also assisted — maturing by wise process of gestation in 
the growing boys — we may see the beginning of wisdom. 

As soon as possible wheat became, as always among Aryan nations, the 
main reliance in breadstufFs. The lye from wood ashes suggested a way 
to prepare hulled corn. 

The English tart speedily gave way to pie, the mince-meat and the 
apples, the squash and the berries being so temptingly convenient. Plums, 



OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 253 

which grow to perfection in England and on our north Pacific coast, and 
which supply the national " sweet " of England, do not come to their 
finest maturity in New England. 

HOME VIRTUES 

It is probably true, as a broad statement, that generations of men living 
in apartment houses cannot remain free. The habits of independence in 
thought and action which are stimulated by dwelling in a detached home 
are necessary to educate a free man. An apartment house, with a suite of 
rooms in which everything is furnished, is calculated to sap the manliness of 
young Americans and so far will in time come to be immoral. That is 
to say, if everything is furnished for a man he grows to be a parasite. 

Our fathers hewed watering troughs from logs. They made buckets of 
wood and thus became their own coopers. They wanted a damp-proof 
powder carton, and found it in an ox horn, and from other horns they made 
their buttons, and even swore by " the great horn spoon." Few families 
had much china; fewer had tin. The plates were trenchers of wood turned 
on home lathes. Pottery though rude was serviceable. But the age was, 
above all others before or since, the wood age. Wood of so many good 
sorts was ready to their hands. There is no non-conductor better than 
wood. Place your hand on a log a foot away from a blaze and you find 
the wood barely warm. Finding colder winters here than in England, the 
settlers soon fenced out the winter by the lapped clapboard and the wain- 
scotted wall. Their vehicles, even to the axles as in the " one hoss shay," 
were all of wood or leather, except perhaps the tires and linch-pin. 

What they could not make they did not want. They were a fine example 
of Socrates' half humorous, wholly wise saying, on going through the stalls 
of a market: "How many things there are in the world that I don't 
need! " 

There can be no doubt that the versatility cultivated by their situation 
in life was the source of that contempt in our ancestors for shiftless people. 
As a child I remember the term shiftless used by my grandfather as an 



254 \^ERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

epithet of opprobrium as strong as any attaching to moral turpitude. The 
contrast was vast between their time and ours, when the same man who lays 
a brick cannot lay a tile. 

The hand of our grandmother! It was worthy to be carved in marble 
by a master and the effigy Icept under glass like the crown jewels! What of 
deftness and cunning and experience and strength and tenderness did it 
lack! Surely the hand — when it is glorified by such knowledge and use 
and such a spirit • — - is a fascinating and adorable member, worthy to be 
kissed, nay almost worshiped, despite its wrinkles and hardened knuckles. 
It founded and fed and furnished a family and a nation. 

FLOOR COVERINGS 

In the ancient houses of persons in modest circumstances the rag carpet 
strips and the braided rugs were all that was necessary. The carpet was 
woven on the great loom that stood at one end of the living room. The 
braided rugs could be formed in so many patterns and sizes that they 
afforded ample variety. In the best sorts the braids ended with every revo- 
lution so as to make a complete stripe, and were not sewn spirally round 
and round. 

When cotton was dear and silk dearer, every old bit from a garment 
and at last the garment itself went into the rugs. Thus each had an in- 
dividuality, and the mother as she sat sewing could not cast her eyes down 
without being reminded of various members of her family who had once 
worn what was now a strand in the rug. No wonder that these rugs 
which wore like iron were handed down two generations and more. They 
wove into their quaint colors the comedy and tragedy of the family; they 
were a history of the old years, and meant far more than old China. 

Their value and durability was greater when the braid was small and 
close and the edges well turned in. They were sewn tightly with strong 
linen threads, and it was counted as a reproach to the maker if a seam 
started. 

The round and the oval shapes were most common. There was a bit 






-Jt-^_- 



OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 257 

of brightish color in the center, but for the most part the colors were 
quiet, and the two or three outer rows were dark or black to give strength 
to the tones. 

But the hooked, or the drawn-in rugs, two names for the same thing, 
are the domestic Wiltons of New England. Many beautiful rugs of this 
sort are found in Vermont. Made on burlap by the same method as the 
white counterpanes with candle wicking decorations, they called for every 
bit of artistic genius the housewife possessed. Some of the handsomer 
large ones have been disposed of in recent years for fabulous prices. 

COLONIAL JOURNEYS 

It was many years after the settlement of these shores before anything 
fairly resembling a road existed. Finally, the Great and General Court of 
Massachusetts passed an act to build a road twelve miles west into the 
wilderness, " That being as far," the act recited, " as anyone could ever 
wish to go." The first method of travel was, of course, over the Indian 
trails and by horseback, as soon as the colonies had developed a little. It 
is a question whether there is any method superior even at the present 
time, provided one can be sure of pleasant weather. Winding along into the 
dappling shadows beneath the trees of a primeval forest, coming out now 
and then into open spaces, was a pleasure shared by all our ancestors into 
the dim ages of romance. If there was a lady on the pillion she was 
obliged both for safety and by custom to throw her arms about the cavalier. 
The superiority of this means of travel becomes apparent over any modern 
device. A horse requires no wider path than a man, and a journey alone 
of any great distance begets an intimate acquaintance between the rider 
and his good beast. 

But with the introduction of vehicles by the wealthy the old simple 
custom passed away, and as time went on the stage-coach came in. 

Miss Mary Emmons has supplied me with some suggestions and quo- 
tations from which I incorporate some matters in this book. 

Sedan chairs in the towns, and chaises in town and country became 



258 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

available. The stage, however, was supposed to be the last word In 
civilization. The taverns sprang up rapidly on the stage routes. At first 
they were licensed with strict laws forbidding dancing, singing and the 
use of tobacco. Later these regulations fell into abeyance or were re- 
pealed and the taverns became the centers of hospitality for the traveler 
and the resident. 

The innkeepers were often the most influential men of the town. It 
is related of the innkeeper at Bennington, Vermont, that he declined 
to give a dinner to a traveler who came to that town on the day of the 
Battle of Bennington, because every good man should be in that fight. 
The traveler rejoined that he had ridden forty miles to reach the battle- 
field as a delegate from the Continental Congress. The Innkeeper was 
the repository for all the news, both local and general, and when the 
stage drew up at his door he ,was a person to whom the hat was doffed 
with great respect. The stage driver was the proverbial jolly fellow and 
magnified his office. Many old mile-stones yet mark the way of old 
post roads which developed from the Indian trails. 

The old turnpikes are yet bordered by many a hostelry that once re- 
sounded with laughter and teemed with guests. When the route between 
Providence and Boston was established the Providence Gazette had this 
item: "We were rattled from Providence to Boston in four hours and 
fifty minutes. If any one w'ants to go faster he may send to Kentucky and 
charter a streak of lightning." The fare for this trip was three dollars. 
Nor ,was stage-coaching at all in the nature of recreation, except for the 
hardy. 

A person who had made such a journey was like the writer of Holy 
Writ, " he could tell all his bones." The jolts were a fine treatment for a 
sluggish liver, and those who lived through the journey arrived well 
exercised for the bountiful meal that awaited them. 

The family trip to market was also a great event and often occupied a 
considerable period. The teamsters at the foot of a great hill would couple 
their teams and help one another to the crest. It was on this account 




>jBrai^T3^»"«fe3\ .'«frrv^«UB<>« 



OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 261 

largely that villages grew up on the tops of some of the highest hills in 
New England. Besides that, in a sparsely settled country the people de- 
sired to have wide views. It gave a sense of fellowship if they could see 
from their homes the spire of a distant village. Thus the marketing 
trips were great social events especially in the winter when there was more 
leisure. Many neighbors participated. 

The journey was made in pungs, deep laden with produce of the farm. 
Firkins of butter and lard, kegs of maple syrup, beans, cheese and knitted 
goods made by the women, and a medley of other products lay in intimate 
association beneath the fur robes. The housewife added a " mitchen-box " 
of home-cooked food. The ride became a moving picnic. Rural wit 
flashed back and forth on the crisp air and many an acquaintance begun 
under such circumstances became still more intimate by the long evenings 
at the tavern, where the travelers stopped for the night. 

The produce, on arriving at market, was bartered for such articles of 
luxury as were not produced at home. It was necessary to have a good 
memory as one could not telephone every five minutes. The technical 
phrase " a market town " came into use by the location, here and there, of 
towns scattered at about such distances as would make it possible for trav- 
elers in this manner to reach them. 

It was owing to this circumstance that such towns were all of about the 
same size and importance. It was many years before the important city 
overshadowed its rivals. A single town, perhaps now decadent, sent into 
the Revolutionary War twice as many men as could be spared today. 
The dignity and importance of a local center was emphasized and the 
leaders in such towns developed to such a point of capacity and dignity 
that they felt themselves the equal of the best in the land. 

A BACKWARD GLANCE 

Had we followed the itinerant schoolmaster in his wanderings from 
week to week or the traveling shoemaker or the parson who looked in for 
a call and in accordance with the old-time hospitality was urged to stay 



262 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

for a " bite " we should have had an opportunity to see varied arrange- 
ments of serving food, fully as interesting as the modern course dinner 
with its multiplicity of devices. We might have sat at a plain board laid on 
trestles, a relic of Saxon days, or a " long table " where both sides were 
occupied and not one, as was the ancient custom, or a " drawing table," 
which was really an extension table as it truly needed to be in those hospi- 
table days. Had we taken a meal at a " chair table," which could be con- 
verted from one article to another, we might have had premonition, not 
altogether alluring, of some of our present combination furniture so fear- 
fully and wonderfully made. Or we might have been confused by the 
intricacies of the " hundred leg table " which could be attached to hold 
the flaps at either end and so accommodate a large number of persons. A 
portion of one of these tables still in existence is over seven feet wide. 
They were made, like all sensible things, to fit a need as in the case of one 
of most curious form, called " three tables forming a horseshoe for the 
benefit of the fire." 

The table covering went through a change in name and form before 
our present white damask became common. The cover was called board 
cloth, and was trimmed, when means permitted, with lace, and richly em- 
broidered in colors. The napkins were of the same style and much prized. 

The lack of table utensils and the peculiarity of those in use would 
have embarrassed us, like an invitation to eat with chop sticks. Like Penel- 
ope, suffering the agonies of breaking an egg at an English breakfast 
table, we should scarcely have known the knack of the proprieties, and we 
certainly could not have eaten with our forks. 

The table ware of the Pilgrim Fathers was meager. Governor Winthrop 
had sent to him in 1633 the first fork used in America and the note accom- 
panying it was, " A fork for the useful applycation of which I leave to 
your discretion." We are not told what purpose the fork was made to 
serve. 

" The standing salt " was often the most important piece of plate and, 
as in England, the social standing of guests was determined by the posi- 



OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 265 

tion of the seat above or below the salt. Is this why the spilling of salt 
between two people assumed such a significance? 

The table furnishings of the New England planters were chiefly 
trenchers, square blocks of wood whittled out by hand. Often only one 
graced the board of an entire family. Woe be to the modern theory of 
germs and the intricate methods of housekeeping! These wooden dishes 
gave way to pewter ware, and this, in its turn, about the time of the 
Revolutionary War, to porcelain. 

INDEPENDENCE 

The joy of achievement! Who has not felt it in a greater or less 
measure? Who, indeed, but the fawning dependent creature who is fond 
of quoting " The Lord will provide "? as He does indeed by the painstak- 
ing, unselfish labor of some one who is ready to carry the burden. In 
the days of our forefathers there was not so much temptation to lean, for 
the very nature of the work necessary to sustain life prompted independ- 
ence. Was it not in a way a struggle for " the survival of the fittest "? 
It was taken for granted, not argued or timidly requested by faltering 
parents, that children should assume their rightful share of the day's 
duties. IMuch of the boys' spare time was given to chopping wood, carry- 
ing water and feeding the horses, while the girls no less employed the 
time to their own and others' advantage by spinning, sewing, weaving, wip- 
ing dishes or sweeping. These habits bore fruit by producing sturdy, in- 
dependent, thrifty men and women. The sternness and simplicity of their 
struggle for existence rooted in them the principles that made them men, 
not weaklings. Was not a young man in those days spared to a certain 
extent the often harrowing stage when he must decide whether he would be 
" doctor, lawyer, merchant, thief "? when every man must be his own pro- 
vider and it was clear that he must do the " next thing." 

If one now is so fortunate as to possess the " wherewithal," the neces- 
sity for independence has relaxed, and a weak character results. Ma- 
chinery has superseded handwork and we know that to some extent this is 



266 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

disadvantageous. Yet the traits of our forefathers car be traced in many 
directions. The same self-respect, courage, determination and ability are 
apparent in the magnificent achievements of today — the tunnels, the vast 
irrigation works in the West reclaiming the waste lands, the canal with its 
great locks and dams, the construction of which seems almost superhuman 
— these and many other things show that our ancestors did not struggle 
in vain. 

A RAISING 

When iron was rare and valuable, it was usual to frame the house with- 
out it. Mortice and tenon were used to make all connections and these 
were pinned with wood. The frame of the entire side would fasten to- 
gether lying on the ground. When all was ready, invitations were sent 
far and wide and it was regarded as the duty, as well as the pleasure, of 
every one summoned to lend his presence. The entire side of heavy 
timbers was lifted at once and held in place while another was raised 
to match it. Then the young and agile men received the roof pieces and 
at length with appropriate ceremonies one of the more daring sat upon the 
ridge pole and led the cheers. Thus the work of many months hastened to 
immediate completion. 

Merry girls flitted about and distributed the refreshments provided by 
the host — cider, doughnuts, cheese, and sometimes a formal " raising " 
supper was served. 

THE TIME OF DAY 

We, with our watches and numerous clocks, are hardly able to imagine 
ourselves without any adequate method of keeping time. 

Our fathers welcomed the tall clocks and counted them as objects worthy 
of rich ornament and scrupulous care. Before clocks could be afforded 
men became quite adept at estimating the time of day merely by looking 
at the sun. 

The almanac derived its great importance from the lack of time -keepers. 
Twice on every fair day, at sunrise and sunset, an isolated family could 



OLD NEW ENGLAND HOMES 269 

check the time roughly by the almanac. I remember that my grandfather 
could tell the noon hour within ten minutes by a glance at the sun. Persons 
of a very regular habit also have a time-keeper in their stomachs. 

Then, also, some had sun-dials, but as there were only two days in the 
year when the dial was accurate, a more or less involved problem was 
necessary to ascertain the precise time. It is, perhaps, owing to their habit 
of following the sun that our fathers rose so early in the summer. We 
joke about the early hours of retiring in the country. It is probable, how- 
ever, that city dwellers sleep longer than their country cousins. If the 
settler went to bed with the chickens, he also arose with them and his hours 
of activity of mind and body were greater than our own. 

In winter it was, of course, necessary to take breakfast and supper by 
candle light or by the " hearth-fire's ruddy glow." The winter, however, 
was not the season when important labors pressed upon the settler. Aside 
from the care of his beasts, the ploughing out of the roads after the snows 
and the getting up of the annual store of wood, his out-door duties were 
intermitted. 

Many of his winter days were given to making plain and simple articles 
of furniture, for which we are now ready to pay nearly their weight in 
silver. 

Another means of time reckoning was by the hour glass, but this re- 
quired some one to watch it and turn it over the moment the sand had run 
through. Hour glasses were therefore especially appropriate for desks 
where people worked regularly, as the parson or the professional writer. 

The term " sparking " to designate that ancient Saturday night custom 
of calling on a sweetheart, was probably derived from the sparking lamp. 
An open but deep vessel of glass had poured into it such a quantity of 
oil by the watchful mother as she considered proper to burn during the 
young man's call. On the oil was placed a floating wick which gave a dim 
light, it is true, but probably enough to suit the persons concerned. The 
mother therefore had in the sparking lamp a means of showing her opinion 
of the suitor. If he were a young man likely to do well in the world 



270 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

and of good character she allowed her hand to let the oil flow more gener- 
ously than otherwise. 

It was not considered proper for a caller to remain after the oil was 
exhausted. It formed a variable time-keeper. We may picture the anxious 
look of the swain at the condition of the lamp when it was brought into the 
best room. 



XLIII. THE FUTURE OF VERMONT 

WHILE people cannot move mountains they can do almost anything 
else to make or mar a state. The people of Vermont control the 
future of Vermont in a physical as well as in a social sense. 

The population of Vermont was not many years since of one class and 
one race. The state was a fine example of that unity of people which 
used to be counted an important social advantage. It was thought that 
here in the north was one region at least where early American traditions 
could be carried out by a people descended from British ancestry. No- 
where except in the mountain states of the south was the population 
so largely native. 

It is a darling dream, — that of a country of one race, one religion, one 
condition of comfort without wealth. But it is a dream from which Ver- 
mont has awakened with something of surprise and perhaps of sorrow. 
It is true, and easily seen to be true, looking backward, that not all the 
people were worthy and wise. There were here and there marks of neglect 
as one journeyed through the state. Antiquated methods of farming were 
common. 

But that spirit of independence and self-sufficiency which had become a 
second nature of her people, derived from her revolutionary experience, 
had been depended upon to work out a social condition of the most attractive 
rural type. What might have eventuated it is perhaps useless to speculate 
here. For the mark of every sane mind is to take account of conditions, 



THE FUTURE OF VERMONT 273 

not of theories. Vermont is in a state of rapid flux when viewed by the 
long vision of history. To a considerable extent it is becoming a new 
French Canadian province. How far the influx of the prolific French 
families is to modify old Vermont one would be a daring prophet to de- 
clare. It is impossible to forecast with any degree of probability the extent 
to which the French immigration will continue; it is not possible to know 
whether the present numerical superiority of a French over a Yankee 
family will be maintained; it is not possible to say just what the social 
reaction of the mixture of races will be. 

If we glance at the history of French Canada we observe first of all that 
its people are conservative to an extreme degree. That conservatism marks 
the French character in the old world as well. Outside of Paris the French 
are an exceedingly stifiF and unvarying people, in their work and their ideals. 
There is no valid reason for supposing that the French nature will change 
in any important degree. True, the impulse of change which has brought 
about this French immigration may be thought to indicate that the immi- 
grant is more receptive of new ideas than his congener who remained be- 
hind on the Canadian home acres. But the hope of bettering one's self 
financially may not mark any awakening to new aspects of life in general. 

The conservatism of the French Canadian may prove a valuable asset 
on the American side of the line, where society seems at times in danger of 
being shifted too fast and in a wrong direction. At the basis of any great 
and durable state lies that love of the land, and that continuance on it which 
has marked the Kelt in all generations. A stable farm life is the necessary 
condition for the progress of any nation. As soon as the farming popula- 
tion become restive, and on slight excuse, or no excuse at all, leave behind 
their ancient occupation and seek a new one, so soon is a state completely 
upset and in extreme peril. It was this change that overthrew Italy in 
the classic period. It appears to all careful students that a people who 
will stick to the land, through good season and bad season, who will carry 
on farm work whether it offers the highest rewards or not are the greatest 
asset of any state and the necessary foundation of any state. 



274 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

The author once tried to purchase from a Kelt a farm. It was not 
ancestral in the Kelt's family. The oflFer gradually rose to nearly three 
times the intrinsic value, as the farm was desired by the prospective pur- 
chaser for ulterior reasons. But no amount of persuasion would avail, and 
we are sure that the offer if doubled again would still have been declined. 
The owner was not a good farmer, nor a very diligent man. But he 
simply clung to his land. The love of the Irish for a piece of land is 
proverbial. We are bound to say that the trait is profoundly beneficial to 
society at large. It will be a sad day when men cease to joy in the owner- 
ship of land and acquire the tenant habit. If the French people who are 
buying Vermont farms remain unchanged in their habit of clinging to 
their lands these immigrants aside from any other merits or demerits that 
may mark them, will prove ultimately good citizens. The stabilizing 
effect of acre ownership is superior to any other known force in society. It 
is not likely that what has ever been true in this regard will change. 

How far the similar persistence in the French immigrants in maintain- 
ing their own language will go is somewhat uncertain. But the tendency 
is to the adoption of English in a far greater degree than in Canada, for 
the reason that whereas in Canada the French populations are solid bodies, 
generally, they are in Vermont naturally scattered here and there among 
English people. We may well believe also that the predominant English 
race will force, through schools and courts and trade relations the final and 
general adoption of English speech. Otherwise Vermont would become 
a state with communities growing up here and there cut off by alien speech 
from the body of the nation's people — always a danger, often a catastro- 
phe. We saw in Canada during the great war the remarkable phenomenon 
of a French people going grudgingly to the aid of their motherland 
France. The cause of this unwillingness for war is doubtless assignable 
in part to other reasons than the almost hermitlike life of segregation 
marking rural French Canada, but that parochial self-sufficiency, fostered 
by their speech, is yet a partial reason for the general unwillingness to enter 
on the rescue of France. 



THE FUTURE OF VERMONT 277 

We are perhaps safe in believing that the present vigorous movement 
of Americanization will not be turned aside successfully by the French im- 
migrant. 

Turning to another community to reinforce our main thought, we see in 
parts of old fashioned rural Pennsylvania a persistence of habit that has 
been a vast source of strength to the state and the nation. The descendants 
of German and Dutch settlers, especially the former, have by their steady 
continuance in devoting themselves to the soil established a rural com- 
munity unrivalled in many of its merits by any in this country. For we 
must never forget that not genius, nor even learning, is the mainstay of 
the state, but the continual efforts of the average man, age after age, to 
subdue the earth and rule over it. 

Going back now to Vermont, we find it a state dependent more than 
most upon the undiscouraged efforts of the farmer who tills his own farm 
of moderate size, keeps wild game from swarming down from the hills, 
keeps the roads and the schools open, and goes on steadily holding society 
together, consciously or unconsciously waiting for a better day. So long 
as every boy looks upon himself as a possible future President of the 
United States America will be secure. It is the taming of the world in 
waiting hope that makes the future secure. 

If some deplore the taking over of Vermont acres by the French people 
we can only reply to them that if Americans abandon their birthright it 
is far better that other peoples should take the land than that it relapse 
into a wilderness. For the truth must be faced; there are not enough 
farmer's boys left in Vermont who are willing to work the ancestral acres. 
The future of the state must therefore be worked out by the old in- 
habitants, together with the immigrants, to save the fair hills to use and 
beauty. There are happily a remnant of the old stock who love their 
old homes and their occupation. They have produced the Morgan horse; 
they have demonstrated the possible profitableness of hill farms; they 
have shown the feasibility of combining hand work with head work so as 
to produce a generation as far removed as possible from the peasant con- 



278 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

dition. Of course it is conceivable that Vermont may become predominantly 
foreign. But even that condition is not as sad to contemplate as the 
giving up of a good acre to grow wild again — a sight more pregnant of 
disaster than any other. The reaction of American ideals is very potent. 
We are hopeful concerning the future of Vermont. We believe that as 
soon as the unrest left by the great war has been calmed, the return to the 
land on the part of a select class of old Americans may be hoped for. 

Meanwhile there is work for all in developing the state of Vermont. 
Idle hands are so only from preference. What we hope is the only fine 
stimulus for what we do. The hopes of nations and of communities may 
rise and fall, but in the main there is advance in the conditions of country 
life. We see also in the diversity of Vermont's physical resources a reason 
for hope. A prairie state is naturally given over largely to one sort of 
occupation and one main crop. 

The very diversity of Vermont's surface tends to that greatest ad- 
vantage of the agriculturist — mixed farming. When to this varied sort 
of farming we add the manufacturing which the lumber, granite and marble 
of Vermont stimulates, we obtain a healthful society, mutually reacting, 
each part to the advantage of the other. 

In the midst of this necessary attention to labor, if the Vermonter does 
not forget the winning quality of his state upon the tourist he will do well. 
What attracts a tourist is not so much an occasional center of thrift, as a 
general appearance of well-being over the entire countryside. Of course 
we all enthusiastically admit that a fertile, well cared for, well-watered, 
well-wooded countryside, with grazing herds, neat farm buildings and 
fair roads, is the most delightful vision that bursts on a weary mankind. 
It calls us back to paradise, or what is better, to making a paradise of our 
own. The original paradise was merely a sample. Men were driven 
out of it in order that after repeated and age-long experiment they might 
erect a newer paradise, of which they would become careful, since they 
themselves erected it, and knew its worth. 

Vermont for its future will need, at least it will be greatly helped by, 



'W 





9t.'^ -•■' 




THE FUTURE OF VERMONT 28 r 

the admiration and enthusiasm of the outsider. The people from far 
cities who travel in Vermont will at last enthuse the last Vermonter over 
his own state. There is need of this inspirational work though perhaps 
the Vermonter may repudiate the idea. He has only to be asked to make 
up a tally of the Vermonters who have departed from the state of their 
birth. The country swarms with them. They love their state, but they 
love it from afarj they sing its praises but they no longer see its beauties 
except at rare intervals. Therefore there are many Vermonters who need 
to be kept in Vermont, men who do not know that they already possess 
whatever of paradise is still left for men. The winters of Vermont seem 
to some of its people a grim answer to such an assertion. But woe to the 
race that comes to regard cold weather as the enemy of man, or a ban on his 
development or enjoyment. Various hotels are already teaching Ver- 
monters that their winters are one of the State's great attractions. It is 
said by hotel men south of Vermont that they cannot depend upon steady 
cold weather for winter sports, and that it is in Vermont that they find 
most accessibly a steady cold in a region of natural beauty. It may be that 
the winter climate of Vermont, which has been thought by many shrink- 
ing emigrants a handicap, will in time come to be regarded as her best 
feature, for health, rest, beauty and finally for fertility. For on the last 
depends largely the quickly springing grass, always greenest under a snow- 
drift. At this very point it is important to meet squarely the popular and 
erroneous notion that cold weather counts against a climate. To begin 
with, it is true that in no part of our country do people suffer so much from 
the cold as in the South. The writer never came so near perishing from 
cold as in Florida in December, because he was not prepared to resist cold. 
The people of the South not requiring good houses seldom build them. 
Not finding the necessity of thrift they are less formed in habits of sound 
economy. South of Mason and Dixon's line commercial credits average 
much longer than north of that line. 

That is only another way of illustrating the effect of climate on character. 
It has always required cold weather to tone men up. Cold weather is a 



282 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

wonderful stimulus to architecture, to invention, to manufactures, to 
community of effort and interest. 

Let the inert, the anemic, the drones seek the life of the South if they 
will. A little visit to a warmer district in winter may prove a reasonable 
and pleasing relaxation for a Vermonter. But any one who investigates 
will learn that the work which sets the world forward is done at home, 
by the Vermonter, who cannot relax and labor at the same time. 

The influence of climate on ideas is a subject that will bear more study 
than it has ever received. But let the Vermonter ask himself this one 
question: What will the future of my children be in the South, as com- 
pared with their future in the state of their birth? There is but one 
answer. Independence and activity will be nurtured best at home. 

But the encouragement which the Vermonter needs, in many instances, 
to stay at home, rather than emigrate, is still further given by pointing 
out to him attractions of his state which he has failed to recognize. This 
statement seems extremely conceited. But judged by figures it does not 
prove so. The Vermonter continues to leave home and does not come 
back. Hence the advantage of an occasional poet-capitalist who settles in 
the state and combs out the beauty of a countryside. Travel, if the traveler 
is awake, certainly tends to disseminate good ideas, and the Vermonter 
who travels forth and returns again has learned by comparison the ad- 
vantages of his home state. It would be too tedious to mention the many 
persons who like the Evarts family of Windsor have held and developed 
their home acres, although the keenness of their minds has called them 
forth to fight successfully in the nation's more populous centers. There are 
those who believe William M. Evarts was the best intellect of his day. 
He was molded by the first Vermont influences and he never forgot his 
debt to his native state. 

No doubt in the process of time other men will arise to render their 
nation illustrious, and to give dignity to its native manhood. Meantime let 
us rejoice in the opportunity Vermont has to produce such men. Most of 
all let us indulge the hope that the conditions that rendered an Evarts possi- 
ble will continue, guarded jealously by the loyal Vermonter. That loyal 



THE FUTURE OF VERMONT 285 

Vermonter will know that the only state worth saving is a state capable of 
yielding both beauty and strength. 

The future of Vermont is therefore, even on the physical side, dependent 
on the sort of men who are to form her inhabitants. 

The conservation of her forests to prevent floods, the steady and har- 
monious development of all her resources so that no one development kills 
another, these must come about through a wise citizenship who intend to 
live all their lives with Vermont as their front yard. 

THE VERMONTER OUTSIDE VERMONT 

There have sprung up, in various parts of our country, Vermont 
societies, devoted to retelling old tales of the state their members 
love, to renewing boyhood associations, to binding all concerns of life to 
sentiment, and to concerting measures for the good of Vermont. We 
must look largely to such societies to do necessary things for the state, which 
will perhaps otherwise remain undone. 

Living out of Vermont members of these societies are able to gain a truer 
perspective, perhaps, of the State and its needs, than are the people within 
its own borders. 

These societies, when once they have seriously studied the matter, 
will know what must attract the general public to Vermont, and the scat- 
tering of facts about the state will prove of great advantage. For Ver- 
mont only needs the truth told about her in order to be loved. Without 
meaning to be invidious we are obliged to admit that certain western states 
have spread abroad golden propaganda which those induced by this means 
to settle in those states have not always found borne out by the facts. 

There is enough natural beauty in Vermont to induce admiration, and 
it is in part the self appointed but humble though joyful mission of this 
book to point out a few of those beauties. There is enough natural wealth, 
good climate, and enough of all that renders human life worth while, 
within the limits of Vermont, to afford abundant material to all who wish 
to set the facts forth. The serious and unhappy fact is that we in America 
have often held cheap things in esteem, and ignored what was of most 



286 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

worth. A fair and fruitful state, within three or four hours of salt water, 
within two hours of great cities, set among hills, dotted with lakes, green 
with the wealth of forest and field, rich in corn and flocks, romantic in its 
traditions, proud of its history and altogether attractive economically and 
aesthetically, such a state cannot much longer fail to be appreciated at 
its true and great worth. We bespeak success to all Vermont Societies and 
wisdom to all their efforts in behalf of the most homelike of all states. 

Indeed this book will appeal more to the Vermonter who lives far from 
his native state than to him who remains in the old home. The non- 
resident needs most some reminder of the old home. A dealer in pictures, 
in the city of Denver, once said : " What I want is pictures in my window 
such that people will stop before them and weep." He wanted a call 
in the picture, to the eye, that would bring back, in a rush of sentiment, 
all the memories of childhood. The brow of the hill around which the 
road curved, and where the maples waved in the wind, the cottage under 
the elm; the brook by the foot of the hill; the bars let down as the cows 
came home; the home turn into the dear old front yard, and all the 
thousand nameless charms that overflow the heart and make life some- 
thing better than a tread-mill. And is that not what we all crave? We 
recognize, though we may be too proud or cynical to admit it, the value of 
sentiment. We love the calls that are most human, and we look with 
longing even at scenes that recall hardship. 

When the last account is cast up and we forget all about the price of 
hay and corn we shall still hold in dearest memory the picture of the boy 
perched high on the load of hay, and the tugging horses as they rush 
across the barn bridge through the great doors to escape the shower. We 
shall remember the husking, the many lanterns, the great mows of hay as 
the background, the vast piles of yellow corn, the eagerness of the young 
faces in the flickering light! 

It is better than pelf, better than glory, more lasting than any dazzling 
success. For it is life in its universal aspect, its hearty honest hopeful 
struggle, its helpful kindness, its halo of neighborly trust and good will 
over all. 




^IW 




RED LETTER DAYS IN VERMONT 289 

In simplicity, in homely comfort, in true warm friendship, in helping 
one's neighbor, in the hope of sowing, in the joy of harvest, in the glow 
of morning and the quiet of twilight glow over the Western hills we leave 
our dear state — till another occasion. 



XLIV. RED LETTER DAYS IN VERMONT 

A BOUT the time the century came in we lived a summer in St. Johns- 
■^ *- bury. The horse we hired was Old Harry, the " old " being an 
adjective of endearment, not of moral opprobrium. Old Harry was a 
Morgan — the horse whose Arab strain, developed for lightness, quickness, 
and bottom, has given us the finest equine known for hilly regions. 

At first the steep hills were frightful, especially their descent. But after 
a few experiences, we found that Old Harry, when given his head, for he 
was never checked, would scramble up and scamper down the boldest slopes 
safely and expeditiously. He was old, yet he went farther in a day than 
the standards set for a city horse. Old Harry never seemed to feel a 
weakness. He showed us the beauties of a large part of Vermont. By- 
roads were his joy. His careful attention to business, his good temper 
and good heart, have left an ineflFaceable impression, which is blended in 
memory with the beautiful experiences of the summer. 

Under a birch grove we gave Old Harry his oats at noon, and ate with 
gusto what our dear landlady had prepared for us. Over in the high- 
lands of Concord we came upon wonderful clumps of beeches, birches, and 
maples. Along the shores of the Connecticut we passed a farm with 
three thousand maples in its sugar orchard! In the higher valleys were 
many little farms, each with its little wedge-shaped corn house, its shop, 
its sugar house, and its barn. We found the air always cool in the morning 
and the evening} almost always by six o'clock one needed an overcoat when 
driving. Only from ten to four the power of the sun made us linger in the 
shady ways to revel in the flickering lights, and to watch the little wild life 
flitting or scampering around us. Danvilleward and beyond are many high 



290 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

but fair round hills, as smoothly covered with grass or corn as any meadow. 
Rank on rank of hills rise to the eye. First come the green, then blue, 
then purple, and what is beyond is only a dreamy mist that might veil 
some greater beauty. 

In the region about Vergennes, during another summer, we used to cross 
the broad plains which stretch for miles, their roads as straight as if across 
a prairie. The fences which bordered those roads were the picturesque 
Virginia rail fence, angular, zigzag, with woodbine, ivy, or wild rose rising 
above the rails at the angles. There was no lack of symmetrical elms, of 
stately old brick houses, of meandering streams, while always to the east 
the wall of mountains rose, challenging rather than forbidding. 

Or on another day, instead of keeping to the plains, we pulled ourselves 
carefully up the great rock headlands of Champlain, north of Burlington. 
In the morning light, in quiet hours, the Adirondacks stand out boldly, 
bounding the western shore. They reminded us of the starker crags that 
bound the Salton Sea in California. There is not elsewhere in the East 
any such extent of beauty, in broad effects combining water and mountain, 
as we see when looking across Lake Champlain. 

Not all of our days were spent in far journeys, however. Some were 
pleasantly passed in excursions for berries and in the simple act of picking 
them. 

At the edge of the " cut-down " the wild strawberries were very sweet 
— the conical, deep red berry with seeds lying outside. We gathered not 
only enough for shortcake, but a surplus to preserve. It was the hottest 
sort of pleasure, for we had to pick when the grass was dry and the June 
sun baking hot. Picking raspberries was more comfortable, for we gath- 
ered them by the roadside on overcast days. But blackberrying was an 
unmixed delight. With two large pails and small picking dishes and our 
luncheon, we started up the mountainside in the August morning and 
never returned until the gloaming. It was part of the ritual not only to 
heap the pails but to fill the picking dishes besides. In the high pastures, 
under the fleeting clouds, we looked out on the valley, our little world, 
spread below. The days were never too long. 



RED LETTER DAYS IN VERMONT 293 

Sometimes a party of some size was made up, and as the picking pro- 
ceeded the conversation did not lag, though we learned that the still 
pickers carried home the heaviest pails. Berry picking allows of almost 
any topic of conversation. The theme of the future career of boy and girl 
was common. With the somewhat sardonic humor of one farmer, who 
opined that Fred, a somewhat erratic boy, " would do well if he kept out 
of jail," there was mingled the pride and hope of some farmer's wife that 
Charles would grow to be a college professor. Sometimes the picker's 
luck reminded one of the wider channels of life. A clump of bushes which 
no one else had found was laden with big luscious fruit, and there the 
pails filled rapidly. Then one might wander far with only an occasional 
berry for reward. 

In the days after the haying, the youths and elders occasionally made 
a general picnic with the children and went a-berrying too. It is said that 
when the hands of youth and maiden touched, as each, by chance, of course, 
worked on the same bush, life partnerships were made. On these picnics 
old married folks renewed their youth and their wooing, too. Among the 
pleasantest days of our lives were those vacations from the strenuous toil 
of town in the mountain pastures. It was " seeing Vermont " under the 
most delightful auspices. 

Occasionally we made up a party to ascend the higher shoulders of the 
mountains. There we camped before a roaring fire, our feet toward it, in a 
lean-to of saplings and evergreen boughs. When we slept we thrust our 
legs into bags to keep warm. Our fast was broken with the food we had 
taken with us, together with highbush cranberries which grow far up on 
the mountain side. We sweetened them with maple sugar which we had 
brought along. With an appetite sharpened by hunger after our sharp 
climb, we had a dinner such as no fashionable cafe can furnish. So long as 
we retain this youthful zest, 

" What have years to bring, 
But larger floods of love and lights. 
And sweeter songs to sing? " 



294 VERMONT BEAUTIFUL 

One picnic day was passed quite diflterently. In North Danville stood 
an ancient cottage, shown opposite. Here with a coterie of friends we 
roamed about, admiring the quaintness of the house. The tame calves 
came to be fondled and fed. Dreamy air surrounded us. Rest seemed 
the normal occupation of man. The cottage was Vermont personified. 
It was simple, honest, kindly, cozy, and independent. As the past flowed 
into the present, sentiment claimed us, and this little poem grew: 

Cottage and elm began their day together; 

The one is breaking in the century's blast; 
Looming triumfhant over wind and weather. 

The other shields its comrade to the last. 

Five generations in their home-nest here. 

Beneath the tree, have waxed to manhood's might; 

Where still the boughs caress the ruin sere, 

The sun with lingering kiss still bids good-night. 

Grant us the gift of lengthening days. 

More winning and more mellow year by year; 

Give us the home-hearth with its cheering blaze. 
And crown us with such comradeship as here! 

Seven years after that delightful day the old house had burned and the 
great elm had fallen in a storm. Musing on the twin disasters, we added 
these lines as a sequel: 

The "flame has claimed the relics of my rhyme; 

The earth has called the elm back to her breast; 
I ponder in the ruins, past my prime, 

Upon the mysteries of change and rest. 

But other suns will raise up elms more fair, 

Beneath which better homes will rise; 
And stronger hearts will weave the life-thread there. 

And better minds will worthier rhymes devise. 

Indeed, humanity seems to divide into those who mourn the past and 
those who shape the future — a worthier and a more healthful task. 



INDEX 



Adam, the brothers, 238. 

Adirondacks, the, 26, 225, 290. 

Allen, Ethan. 77. 

America, 9, 78, 93, 98, 106, 113, 214. 

Appalachians, the, 242. 

Arlington, 82. 

Ascutney, 121. 

As in a window, 197. 

Barnet, 38. 

Barre, 86, 113. 

Bates, Stoddard B., 7. 

Battenkill, 14, 82. 

Battenkill, the Valley of the, 182, 190. 

Beauty of a Cornfield, the, 105. 

Bellows Falls, 9, 14, 85, 86, lio. 

Bennington, 8, 62, 114, 182, 258. 

Bennington, Battle of, 258. 

Bennington-on-the-Hill, 81. 

Black Snake, the, 226. 

Bolton, 89. 

Bomoseen, 26, 82. 

Boston, Mass., 258. 

Boston Common, 53. 

Bradford, 14, 38. 

Brandon, 26, 65, 82. 

Brattleboro, 8, 14, 22, 81, 82. 

Bridgewater, 18. 

Browning, Robert, 201. 

Bucktand, 21. 

Burlington, 9, 26, 30, 85, 290. 

Camel's Hump, 13, 118, 161. 

Canada, 8, 9, 14, 26, 226, 273, 274. 

Canterbury, 197. 

Cape Ann Turkey, the, 250. 

Chester, 89. 

City and Country, 90. 

Colchester, 130. 

Coleraine, 21. 

Concord, N H., 289. 

Connecticut, 14, 38, 49, 78, 121. 

Connecticut River, the, 289. 

Constitution House, 81. 

Continental Congress, the, 258. 

Cornish, 121. 

Country Courtesy, 177. 

Country Schoolhouse, the, 162. 

Cuttingsville, 89. 

Dairying, 141. 

Danbury, 77. 

Danville, 29, 62, 130, 289. 



Deerfield River, the, 18, 130. 
Denver, Colo., 286. 
Dorset, 62, 82, 121. 
Dorset Hollow, 185. 
Dorset Mountain, 82. 
Dunmore, 82. 
Dutch Settlers, 277. 

Eden, 7. 

Edmunds, Senator, 33. 

Ely, 38. 

Embargo Act, the, 226. 

Emmons, Miss Mary, 257. 

Equino.\, 82. 

Essex, 13, 85, 89. 

Evarts, William M., 282. 

Fairbanks, 77. 

Fairlee, 14, 38, 121. 

Farms and Farmers of Vermont, 37. 

Field of Potatoes, the, 166. 

Floor Coverings, 254. 

Florida, 98, 206, 281. 

Food of the Fathers, the, 246. 

Forest Thoughts, 129. 

Forestvale, 65. 

For God and Native Land, 114. 

Future of the Rural East, the, II4. 

Future of Vermont, the, 270. 

Garden Arrangement, 217. 
Gazette, the Providence, 258. 
German Settlers, 277. 
Good Things Prepared, 209. 
Granite Mountains, the, 113. 
Granville Notch, 130. 
Gray's " Elegy," 34. 
Greenfield, 8. 

Green Mountains, 8, 14, 18, 26. 
Gulf, 18. 

Hampden, 34. 

"Hanging of the Crane," the, 237. 

Hartford, 86. 

Hay Field, the, 170. 

Haymarket Square, Boston, 193. 

Hearth, the, 233. 

Heartwellville, 18. 

Homer, 234. 

Home Virtues, 253. 

Hoosic River, the, 18. 

Horse, the Morgan, 277. 

How Dairying Beautifies the Countryside, 141. 



297 



298 INDEX 



Hudson, 14. 
Huntington, 89. 
Hyde Park, 7. 

Ide, Judge, 33. 
Independence, 265. 
Indians, 38, 70, 241, 242. 
Interesting Towns, 77. 
Irish, the, 274. 

Jacksonville, 21. 
Joe's Pond, 29. 
Jordan, the, 206. 
Journeys, Colonial, 257. 

Killington, no. 
Kipling, Rudyard, 82. 

Lake Champlain, 7, 18, 26, 85, 225, 226, 230, 290. 

Lake Dunmore, 26. 

Lake Mohonk, 50. 

Lake of Galilee, the, 246. 

Lakes of Vermont, 25. 

Lamoille, 14. 

Lane, the, 157. 

Lanier, 13, 102. 

Lincoln, Robert, I18. 

Londonderry, 22. 

Love of Fountains, the, 206. 

Ludlow, 89. 

Mad River, 10, 13. 

Manchester, 82, IIO, I18, 121, 182. 

Maple Orchard, the, 125. 

Marble Hills, the, IIO. 

Memphrcmagog, 26. 

Middlebury, 85. 

Middlesex, 10, 13, 86, 89, 118. 

Missisquoi, 18. 

Mohawk Trail, 21. 

Montpelicr, 9, 13, 62, 68 118, 205. 

More Beautiful Vermont, a, 49. 

Morrisville, 221. 

Mountain Trails, the, 109. 

Mt. Adams, 222. 

Mt. Jetferson, 222. 

Mt. Madison, 222. 

Mt. Mansfie d, 50, 89, 118, 221, 225, 226, 229. 

Mt. Pisgah, 25. 

Mt. Washington, 222. 

New England, 7, 9, 13, 22, 25, 45, 66, 70, 73, 74, 

153- 
Newport, 7, 9, 26, 130. 
North ,'\dams, 18. 
North Danville, 294. 
Northfield, 85. 
North River, 21. 



Occupations of the Fireside, 241. 
Old Cellar Hole, the, 158. 
Old New England Homes, 230. 
"Old Star," 237. 
Orient, the, 206. 
Otter Creek, 14, 18, 82. 

Paddock Mansion, 77. 

Paris, France, 273. 

Passumpsic, 14. 

Pennsylvania, 277. 

Peru, 22, 182. 

Pictures in Detail, the, 182. 

Pictures of Flowers, 210. 

Piermont, 38. 

Pike's Peak, 2;. 

Pilgrim Fathers, the, 262. 

Presidential Range, the, 222. 

Proctor, IIO. 

Providence, R. I., 258. 

Quaint and Beautiful Things in Vermont, 118. 
Queechee River, the, 18, 78. 
Quilts, Patchwork, 245. 

Raising, a, 266. 

Rayponda, 21. 

Readsboro, 18. 

Red Letter Days in Vermont, 289. 

Revolutionary War, the, 261, 265. 

Rivers and Brooks, the, 9. 

Roads of Vermont, the, 7. 

"Robin Hood's Barn," 183. 

Rock Creek Park, 26. 

Rockingham Center, 85. 

Royalton, 118. 

Rutland, 9, 18, 30, 70, 82, 85, no. 

Sagas of the Firelight, 233. 

St. Albans, 85, 118. 

St. Johnsbury, 7, 9, 77, 78, 81, 221, 289. 

Salton Sea in California, the, 290. 

Saxton's River, 86. 

Scotch, 22, 26, 33. 

Shelburne, 118. 

Shelburne Falls, 21. 

Sherbrook, 8. 

Sherburne, 118. 

Siddons, Mrs., 234. 

Smith, Governor, 118. 

Smuggler's Notch, 226, 229, 230. 

"Snow Bound," 241. 

Some Country Beauties, 129. 

South Woodstock, 81, 245. 

Sparking, 269. 

Stamford, 18, 22. 

Stowe, 89, 221, 222. 

Suggested Protection as a Quality in Pictures, 

205. 
Summit House, Mt. Mansfield, the, 225. 



INDEX OF PICTURES 



299 



Sunday in the Country, 178. 
Sun Dials, 269. 
Swanton, 9, 85. 
Swift River, 65, 89. 

Taste for tlie Beautiful, a, 142. 
Taylor, Mrs., 77. 
Thetford, 38, 58, 121, 130. 
Time of Day, the, 266. 
Trees of Vermont, the, 61. 
Troy, 8. 
Tunbridge, 62, 130. 

Vail, Thomas N., 117. 

Vergennes, 18, ii8, 290. 

Vermont, roads of, 7; the lakes of, 25; villages of, 
29; farms and farmers of, 37; a more beau- 
tiful, 49; cottage sites, 57; the trees of, 61; 
quaint and beautiful things in, 118; in winter, 
122; wild flowers of, 134; damsels and dames, 
173; the future of, 270; red letter days in, 289. 

Vermont Cottage Sites, 57. 

Vermont Damsels and Dames, 173. 

Vermont in Winter, 122. 

Vermonter Outside Vermont, the, 285. 

Versatility of the Settler, the, 242. 

Villages of Vermont, 29. 

Visit to Mt. Mansfield, a, 221. 



Waiting for the "Auto" to Pass, 126. 

Wallingford, 130 

War of 1812, 226. 

Warwick, R. I., 238. 

Waterburv, 9, 86, 89. 

Webb, 118. 

Wells River, g. 

Westminster, 38. 

West River, 14, 22. 

White Mountains, the, 25, 78, 109. 

W bite River, 9, 13, 65, 118. 

White River Junction, 85. 

\\ hitingham, 21. 

Whittier, J. G., 241. 

Wild Flowers of Vermont, 134. 

Wilder, Arthur B., 69. 

W illiamstown, 8. 

Willoughby, 25, 26, 78, 130. 

Wilmington, 13. 

Wiltons, Domestic, 257. 

Windsor, 81, 121, 282. 

Winooski, the, 10, 13, 62, 85, 86, 89, 205, 229. 

W inthrop. Governor, 262. 

Woodstock, 9, 18, 69, 70, 78, 81, I2r. 

Young, "Uncle Sam," 77. 



INDEX OF PICTURES 



Page ii. Top. The Swimming Pool, No. 220. 
Bottom left. Connecticut Shores, No. 

5383- 
Bottom right. Out of the Hills, No. 4971. 
" 12. Top. An Auspicious Entrance, No. 
8666. 
Bottom left. Waiting for Jacob, No. 444. 
Bottom Tight. For God and Native 
Land, No. 315. 
" 15. Top. The Battenkill, No. 198. 

Bottom. June on the Hilltop, No. 8667. 
" 16. Top. Dorset Lake and Mountain, 
No. 8031. 
Bottom. On the Battenkill, No. 210. 
" 19. Top. The Beckoning Road, No. 8660. 
Center. Over the Valley, No. 343. 
Bottom. Bennington Road, No. 319. 
" 20. Top. Equinox Mount in. No. 2621. 
Center. Housetop and Hilltop, No. 696. 
Bottom. Queechee \'alley. No. 371 1. 
" 23. Top. A Mossy Stair, No. 207. 

Bottom. The Green Mountain Range, 
No. 3561. 
" 24. Top left. Water Tracery, No. 8648. 

Top right. An Orchard in the Hills, 
No. 148. 



Page 24. Bottom. Home, Sweet Home, No. 445. 
" 27. Top. A Favorite Corner, No. 8005. 

Bottom. A Willow Pastoral, No. 732. 

" 28. Top left. Fair Woodstock, No. 5296. 

Top right. Woodstock Arches, No. 151. 

Bottom. An Orchard Haying, No. 

8067. 

" 31. Top. Entering the Old Bridge, No. 663. 

Bottom. Upper Queechee, No. 5287. 
" 32. A Vermont Road, No. 199 
" 35- ^o?- Farm Knoll, No. 6840. 

Bottom left. Resting at the Old Stoop, 

No. 416. 
Bottom right. An Eventful Journey, 
No. loi. 
" 36. Top. A Bethel Valley, No. 3695. 

Bottom left. The Oxbow, October, 

No. S4IS- 
Bottom right. Ribbon Road, Bran- 
don, No. 6677. 
" 39. As in a Window, No. 5309. 
" 40. Top. White River, Royalton, No. 5306. 
Bottom left. A Brandon Roadside, 

No. 3501. 
Bottom right. Brandon Pastures, No. 
3503. 



300 

Page 43. Top. Vermont Curves, No. 6800. 

Bottom. Riverbank Farm, No. 4950. 
" 44. Top. The Welcome of the Hills, No. 
8673. 
Bottom. A Vermont Farmstead, No. 

4944- 
" 47. Top. The Cottage by the Brook, No. 

5332. 
Bottom left. The Fountain, No. 5283. 
Bottom right. The Heart of the Hills, 
No. 5320. 
" 48. Top. Into the Mountains, No. 5497. 
Center. A Bend in the Hills, No. 5472. 
Bottom. A Pasture Stream, No. 288. 
" 51. Top. The Bridesmaids of the Wood, 
No. 61. 
Bottom. Upper Winooski, No. 3697. 
" 52. Top left. Cross-Roads' Shadows, No. 

3515- 
Top right. October Mountains, No. 

5478. 

Bottom. An Overflowing Cup, No. 5392. 
" 55. Top. An Autumn Canopy, No. 5352. 

Bottom. A Summer Stream, No. 15. 
" 56. Top. A Trout Bank, No. 3430. 

Bottom. A River Archway, No. 5356. 
" S9- Clustered Elms, No. 542;. 
" 60. Top. Spring at the Lake, No. 3461. 

Bottom. Mountain Birches, No. 8916. 
" 63. A River of Dreams, No. 5382. 
" 64. Top. Vermont in Autumn, No. 5371. 

Bottom. Above the Bridge, No. 5434. 
" 67. A Valley in Stowe, No. 5397. 
" 68. Top left. Mount Mansfield, No. 5498. 

Top right. June Shadows, No. 8913. 

Bottom. The Narrows in Autumn, No. 

5443- 
" 71. Top. The Long Look, No. 2570. 

Bottom. Bordering the Passumpsic, 
No. 366. 
" 72. Top. At the Fender, No. 136. 

Bottom. Going for the Doctor, No. 279. 
" 75. Top. Derby Pond, No. 6722. 

Bottom. Mount Mansfield, No. 3713. 
" 76. Top left. A Champlain Barrier, No. 
3651. 
Top right. Red Rock Park, No. 182. 
Bottom. A Hill Stream Bridge, No. 

5346- 
" 79. Westmore Drive, No. 365. 
" 80. Top. Between the Cliffs, No. 5314. 
Center. Across the Meadows, Evening, 

No. 529. 
Bottom. River Curves, No. 397. 
" 83. Autumn Waters, No. 5290. 
" 84. Top. Willoughby Lake, No. 6729. 

Bottom. A Village in Blossomtime, 
No. 6696. 



INDEX OF PICTURES 



Page 87. 



91- 



" 92- 



9S- 



" 96. 



99- 



103. 

" 104. 
" 107. 
" io8. 



112. 

"S- 
116. 



119. 
120. 



123, 
124. 
127. 



Top. Stamford Hills, No. 8293. 
Bottom. Twins, No. 4967. 
Top. A Mountain River, No. 6783. 
Bottom. Brandon Arches, No. 6799. 
Top. Blossoms on Lake Bomoseen, 

No. 4923. 
Bottom. Roofed in Blossoms, No 4918. 
Top. Mill Pond Cottage, No. 9256. 
Bottom. Out from the Cottage Door, 

No. 6841. 
Top left. A PuHing Stream, No. 4966. 
Top right. Memphremagog through 

Birches, No. 6684. 
Bottom. Apple and Lilac, No. 4979. 
Top. Luxuriant Spring, No. 6767. 
Bottom. Birches at Bomoseen, No. 

6690. 
Top. Lake Champlain By-Road, No. 

6794. 
Bottom. A River of the Hills, No. 8299. 
Top. The Stamford Stream, No. 8300. 
Bottom. Summit of the Green Moun- 
tains, No. 4943. 
Top. Clouds over Memphremagog, 

No. 6699. 
Bottom. Divided Road, No. 54^9- 
Top. Side by Side, No. 8301. 
Bottom. Streamside Road, No. 4968. 
Top. On the Passumpsic, No. 1838. 
Bottom. A Forest Stream, No. 8311. 
Top. Birches on Lake Dunmore, No. 

6703. 
Bottom. The Connecticut from Guil- 
ford, No. 4934. 
Top. An Elm and Ferns, No. 4936. 
Bottom. Bomoseen through Blossoms, 

No. 4926. 
Top. Tekoa, No. 1008. 
Bottom. In the Glen, No. 5289. 
Dandelion Fluff and Buttercup, No. 

1273. 
Top left. Over the Iron Road, No. 6757. 
Top right. Bluff Birches, Newport, 

No. 6687. 
Bottom left. Uncle Sam Taking Leave, 

No. 294. 
Bottom right. A Stately Border, No. 

6766. 

Top. Lake Memphremagog, No. 4922. 
Bottom. Pleasant Waters, No. 4937. 
Top left. The River in Spring, No. 

8305. 
Top right. Passumpsic Reflections, 

No. 6719. 
Bottom. A Hill Home, No. 4978. 
The Song of the Brook, No. 6798. 
June Joy, No. 6796. 
Top. A Wallingford Pass, No. 4970. 



INDEX OF PICTURES 



301 



Page 127 

" 128, 

" 131, 

" 132. 



136. 
139. 

140. 



143. 

" 144- 

" 147. 

" 148. 

" 151. 

" 152. 

" IS5- 

" 156. 

" IS9. 



" 160. 
" 163. 



Bottom left. Two Up, No. 4949. Page 163. 

Bottom right. Between Kims, No. 4954. 

Top. Old FluffdufF, No. 6777. " 164. 

Bottom. Towards the Mountains, " 167. 

No. 6790. 

Top. Elms and Eddies, No. 6802. 

Bottom left. Chester Birches, No. 6834. " 168. 

Bottom right. Catamount Monu- 
ment, No. 1497. " 171. 

Top left. A Stone Bar-Post, No. 220. 

Top right. Woodland Enchantment, 

No. 559. " 172. 

Centerlefi. Across Dunmore, No. 3519. 

Center right. A Shelburne Orchard, 

No. 66S0. " 175. 

Bottom left. Along Lake Willoughby, 

No. 6728. " 176. 

Bottom right. A Shelburne Home- " 179. 

stead. No. 6714. 

Top. Village Spires, No. 6808. 

Bottom. Marlboro Wood, No. 8315, " 180. 

Swift Water at Chester, No. 3713. 

Top. Paradise Valley, No. 791. 

Bottom. Old Red Schoolhouse, No. 162. 

Top left. A Birch Paradise, No. 322. 

Top right. The Capture of a Red- 
coat, No. 2902. " 183. 

Bottom left. At the Side Door, No. 175. " 184. 

Bottom right. A Day in June, No. 375. 

Top. Resting in the Stream, No. 916. " 187. 

Bottom. Fording the Upper Con- " 188, 

necticut. No. 3027. 

Top. Between the Mountains, No. 

5482. " 191. 

Bottom. Blue and Gold, No. 5491. 

The Little Mountain, No. 5462. 

Top. A Placid Stretch, No. 5345. 

Bottom. Autumn Ripples, No. 5442. 

Top. Autumn Gold, No. 5428. " 192. 

Bottom. Into the Hills, No. 5412. 

Top. A Pasture Back, No. 5399, 

Bottom. Upland Wild, No. 5398. 

Fairway, No. 8656. " 195. 

Top. An October Nook, No. 5282. 

Bottom. Down the Lake, No. 176. " 196. 

Top left. Gorge of the Winooski, 
No. 5361. " 199. 

Top right. Birches, Willoughby " 200. 

Road, No. 3145. 

Bottom left. Mountain Stream, No. " 203. 

5436. 

Bottom right. A Golden Forest, No. " 204. 

5344-, 
Winter in the Lane, No. 7607. 
Top left. A Sheltered Road, No. 3 147. 
Top right. Thetford Curves, No. 8337. 
Bottom left. Plymouth Curves, No. " 207. 

3775. " 208. 



Bottom right. Queechee Gulf, No. 

8335- 
A Woodland Cathedral, No. 14. 
Top left. A Gothic Stream, No. 8644. 
Top right. Where Trout Lie, No. 8645. 
Bottom. June Allurements, No. 8551. 
Top. Riffle in the Stream, No. 3717. 
Bottom, Autumn Grasses, No. 5469. 
Top. Lyndon Vale, No. 68S7. 
Bottom. Springfield Blossoms, No. 

3105- 
Top. The Isthmus, Hero Island, 

No. 6686. 
Bottom. Welberton Slopes, No. 3568. 
Top. Wading River, No. 5368. 
Bottom. Feathered Elms, No. 8325. 
Late River Lights, No. 6838. 
Top. Lilac Cottage, No. 8661. 
Center. Soft Evening Lights, No. 153. 
Bottom. Among the Rocks, No. 98. 
Top. Farm Borders, Marlboro, No. 

8643. 
Bottom left. Streamside, Rawson- 

ville. No. 8322. 
Bottom right. Indian Summer, No. 

S355- 
Young Elms, No. 6837. 
Top. A Hill Home, No. 4964. 
Bottom. Hidden in Foliage, No. 6758. 
An Untamed Solitude, No. S3 12. 
Top left. Birch Brae, No. 4965. 
Top right. Among the Ferns, No. 351. 
Bottom. Forest Born, No. 8323. 
Top. Hiding River, No. 8318. 
Bottom left. Brattleboro Wayside, 

No. 8329. 
Bottom right. Connecticut Calm, 

Thetford, No. 8342. 
Top. Queechee Pastures, No. 8336. 
Bottom left. Down the Bank, No. 

8345. 
Bottomright. River Sketch, No. 8317. 
Top. Ascutney Meadows, No. 8328. 
Bottom. Queechee Hills, No. 8339. 
Top. Ferryside, No. 8347. 
Bottom. A Hill Garden. No. 8764. 
A Fairlee Shore, No. 8765. 
Top. Shaken Lights, No. 8349. 
Bottom. A Thetford Wood, No. 8331. 
Top. At the Bridge, No. 8012. 
Bottom. A Pasture Bank, No. 5399. 
Top left. Tarry-Not River, No. 8306. 
Top right. Tumbling Waters, No. 

8304. 
Bottom. Vermont in October, No. 

6S03. 
Winooski Gorge. 
Top. 0.\en, No. 1857. 



302 



INDEX OF PICTURES 



Page 208. 
" 211. 
" 212. 

" 215. 



216. 



•■ 219. 

" 220. 

223. 



•• 224. 
" 227. 
" 228. 



" 231. 
" 232. 



" 235- 

" 236. 

" 239- 

" 240. 



243. 
" 244- 

" 247- 

" 248, 
" 251, 



Bottom. A Brook in Doubt, No. 253. Pace 252. 

Brook Boulders, No. 8316. 

Top. The Hartland Road, No. 8340. 

Bottom. The Misty Hills, No. 8297. 

fop. A River of Delight, No. 8763. " 255. 

Bottom left. A Champlain Pasture, " 256. 

No. 3589. 
Bottom right. Birch Mountains, No. 

380. 
fop. The River's Song, No. 5295. 
Bottom. Green Mountain Slopes, " 259. 

No. 5334. " 260. 

Lichen in the Glen, No. 200. " 263. 

Better than Mowing, No. 1 157. " 264. 

fop. Following the River, No. 8302. " 267. 

Bottom. Through Richmond Hills, 

No. 5437- " 268. 

fop. Colchester Road, No. 1336. " 271. 

Bottom. A Hill Road in New Eng- 
land, No. 68. 
fop. Dorset Village, No. 1 163. 
Center. June Twilight, No. 8663. . " 272. 

Bottom. Meandering Brook, No. II98. 
fop. Willoughby from the South, 

No. 1369. " 275. 

Bottom. Friendly Reception, No. 142. 
Vermont Birches, No. 1383. 
fop left. Bridgewater Brook, No. 858. 
fop right. Wilmington Waters, No. " 276. 

8641. 
Bottom. Pasture Banks, No. 2265. 
fop. The Sinuous Stream, No. 5423. 
Bottom. OldMarbleQuarry, N0.8030. 
Waiting for the Auto to Pass, No. " 279. 

1349- 
Shadowed by Birches, No. 1333. 
fop left. The Billings Entrance, No. 

1191. 
fop right. Elms, No. 1298. " 280. 

Bottom. June 5 on a Mountain 

Farm, No. 657. 
fop. Haying with O.xen, No. 1 167. " 283. 

Bottom. Surprise, No. 1319. 
fop. Evening in the Stream, No. 

1211. 
Bottom. Carding, No. 8101. 
fop left. The Pasture Glade, No. 5299. 
fop right. Miss T. of Bennington, 

No. 1294. 
Bottom. Mountain Stream, No. 4955. 
fop. Winooski Haze, No. 5475. 
Bottom. Fairhaven Blossoms, No. 

3289. 
fop left. Pasture Banks, No. 5404. 
fop right. Connecticut Arches, No. 

5459- " 295. 

Bottom. An Eye on the Barn, No. 

S029. 



" 284 

" 287 


" 288 


" 291 


" 292 



fop left. Old River Road. 

fop right. Bordered by Birch, No. 

1261. 
Bottom. A Winooski Mirror, No. 3581. 
Champlain's Jutting Crag, No. 3639. 
fop left. A Champlain Headland, 

No. 3643. 
fop right. Washington Mourning 

Paper, No. 318. 
Bottom. Starting for Town, No. 1 169. 
The White Ladies, No. 1215. 
Feminine Curiosity, No. 8009. 
Birch Patriarch, No. 8093. 
A Green Mountain Gorge, No. 8099. 
fop. October on the River, No. 16. 
Bottom. Lake Bank Birches, No. 1445. 
A Forest Drive, No. 102. 
fop. Country Silence, No. 5336. 
Bottom left. Brattleboro Broads, No. 

8320. 
Bottom right. Up River, No. 5431. 
fop left. Going to Market, No. 1380. 
fop right. Glen Edyth, No. 498. 
Bottom. Meadow Quiet, No. 8321. 
fop. A Vermont Sugar Loaf, No. 

4946. 
Bottom. Up the Connecticut, No. 

8348. 
fop left. The Upper Decrfield, No. 

8308. 
fop right. Narrowed Banks, No. 8330. 
Bottom. An Obstructed Brook, No. 

8314. 
fop left. Flickering Shadows, No. 

4981. 
fop right. Memphremagog Birches, 

No. 6731. 
Bottom. Bankside Blossoms, No 6697. 
fop. Blossoming Brook, No. 4969. 
Bottom. The Farmer takes a Drink, 

No. 92. 
fop left. Corn. 
Top right. The River Window, No. 

8760. 
Bottom. Ripple Bank, No. 6764. 
Pebbles and Grasses, No. 546;. 
fop. Under the Crest, No. 5339. 
Bottom. A River Farm, No. 5458. 
fop. Above the Lake, No. 5468. 
Bottom. An Old Moraine, No. 5432. 
fop. A Rain of Gold, No. 5365. 
Bottom. Under a Great Birch, No. 5302. 
fop. Untouched, No. 5492. 
Bottom. Willoughby Birches, No. 

3245- 
fop. An Old-Fashioned Paradise, 

No. 1843. 
Bottom. His Move, No. 236. 



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